


"My Villian Origin Story"

by QueenoftheRandomWord42



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Bullying between students, Detention, Good Teachers, High School AU, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra in the background because bad guys, Ice Powers Bucky Barnes, In this world there are people with superpowers and people without, Loosely based on the movie and off of my high school experiences, M/M, Mrs Tweedy the Children are Revolting, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Parent Child dynamics, Parents getting their shit together and supporting their kids, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Side kick Bucky Barnes, Side kick Steve, Sky High AU, Social Injustice, Steve doesn't have powers, Steve won't develop powers, Student protesting, Students bullied by teachers, Students on Strike, Super Hero Sarah Rogers, Super hero and sidekick divide, Superhero Joseph Rogers, Teachers noticing that Students are being bullied, Teen Angst, Unreliable Narrator, and that's okay, bad teachers, oblivous parents, parents who make mistakes, seriously you might want to strangle the parents for a bit but they'll eventually stop being idiots, shrinky clinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheRandomWord42/pseuds/QueenoftheRandomWord42
Summary: Joseph and Sarah Rogers are the greatest Superhero duo in the history of the Sokovian Accords.Steven Grant Rogers is their only child and has yet to manifest any powers.In eager hopes of him developing his superpowers, his parents had enrolled him into their old high school Sky High, a famous facility to train the next generation of Superheros and Sidekicks, with his father's eager expectations that Steve will be at the top of the Superhero class.Steve tests into the Sidekick class.And disappointing his parents isn't bad enough, Steve now has the biggest crush on the hottest dude with a guitar on campus, and unfortunately for him, James "Bucky" Barnes is the son of the Notorious Villian Frostbite who was famously arrested by Steve's parents about two years ago.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Joseph Rogers & Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson & Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers & Steve Rogers
Comments: 26
Kudos: 42
Collections: Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020





	1. Prologue: The End of Childhood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chim/gifts).



> Prompt 22: Sky High AU: Steve is the son of two of the most famous superheroes in history, but he has no powers. Bucky is the son of a supervillain and shares his parent’s deadly powers. They meet during Steve’s first day at a superhero-only school, and it does not exactly love at first sight considering Steve’s parents put Bucky’s in prison.  
> Special Requests: Bonus points if Steve really has no powers but doesn’t let that stop him. Extra bonuses if Bucky’s villain parent appears at some point (maybe Bucky/the both of them go visit them in prison) and they turn out to be an actually good parent who loves their son a whole lot.
> 
> I based a lot of this story based on some of the movie, and a lot from my own high school experience so I hope you get to enjoy it.  
> Extra Special Shout Out to my beta reader Chibi Squirt, this fic would be half the fic it was without her help and support!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they know that their childhood has ended and their ascent into adulthood has begun.

For some, it is an accomplishment, such as when a young man graduates from high school, shifting his tassel from one side to the other of his cap. For others, it’s the first time she voted, or his first official court appearance.

Some go on bold adventures and come back better and more enriched people.

And for others still, it’s a tragedy, a point of no return that forces the child to choose to become an adult. A sudden upheaval.

An arrest.

For James Buchanan Barnes, he can recall the exact time and date his childhood ended.

It was March 14th, at 10:45 pm. He was in the eighth grade, and he was fourteen years old. It started off as a normal night. They had vegetarian lasagna from a new recipe Bucky’s dad, George Barnes, was trying--a dish that Bucky thought could use a little more pepper and a lot less spinach. Bucky rolled his eyes when his dad reminded him it was his turn to do dishes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky dutifully put the leftovers away, putting one of the pieces of lasagna into a reheatable container so his dad would have an easy lunch for work tomorrow. His own lunch and Becca’s were already sitting in the fridge, as the school he and Becca went to didn’t have access to microwaves.

“Do you still need me to go over that essay for history class, Bucky?” his dad asked from the dining room as he checked over Bucky and Becca’s homework. Bucky’s twelve-year-old sister sat in her seat with the last of her pre-algebra homework spread around her.

“Sure,” Bucky said, though he shrugged. His essay wasn’t anything special, just a few words about some pamphlet by an old-timey guy talking about liberty and trying to encourage support for the American Revolutionary War.

“Ah, ‘The Crisis’ by Thomas Paine...”

George read a little in the dining room, probably going over Bucky’s introductory paragraph before he found something wrong with Bucky’s essay. “Uh James?” he called. “You do realize the Summer Soldier and the Sunshine Patriot aren’t the ones fighting for freedom right? You’ve got the quote about how they will ‘shrink from their duty during the crisis’ but then talk about how they’re supposed to represent the American Patriots during the Revolutionary war.”

“Whoops, I meant to write that they are supposed to be the opposite of that,” Bucky called back., He scrubbed the saucepan in the sink before tossing it and the baking pan into the dishwasher. It took up most of the room in the dishwasher and he thought for a moment about washing it by hand. But no, it did fit—even if machine washing would reduce the amount of time Bucky could procrastinate on the dumb assignment.

He fought down a yawn as he pushed the buttons on the dishwasher and he scrubbed his face in the sink.

He was so tired. Basketball after school had worn him out. All he really wanted to do was go to bed.

But George Barnes was a man who valued a good education, and Bucky had to pick between going to bed late or waking up early--ugh-- to finish the stupid paper. There was no way his dad would let him go to school with an unfinished assignment or half-assed work.

“When you’re done with the dishes, meet me in the office, we’ll finish the paper together after your sister’s gone to bed.”

“Okay Dad,” Bucky nodded. He turned the dial to get the dishwasher to run a normal cycle, and when he couldn’t procrastinate any more he walked into the dining room where Becca was packing up the last of her sixth-grade pre-algebra and making her way to bed.

“Night Bucky.” Becca gave her brother a pat on the shoulder and their dad a hug .

Bucky playfully messed up her hair and she jumped up to grapple him in protest. Bucky pushed his way out of her grip, rubbed his cheek against the top of her head to further mess with her hair and planted a wet slobbery raspberry. She retaliated by stomping on his foot and licking his arm when he tried to let her go.

“Kids...” Bucky’s dad sighed, “James, leave your sister alone. Becca, it’s time to go to bed--you’ve got an early day tomorrow. And your brother really shouldn’t be picking a squabble to get out of doing his homework.”

“Night Becca,” Bucky said with a sigh, letting her go. As soon as their father’s back was turned she stuck her tongue at him, gave him a lightning-fast hug goodnight, and disappeared into her bedroom.

Bucky took a seat in the desk chair and pulled up the rough draft of his essay as his father walked in, a gentle wall and a cool presence that Bucky had always liked to bask in since he was a small child.

“You’ve made an excellent point in your topic sentence at the end of your introduction paragraph, but I think you can make a stronger essay if you add a few more points and keep your third paragraph a little more on the topic here,” Dad said, showing the red pen marks he added to his son’s rough draft essay. Bucky also noticed his dad added a few more commas, but frankly couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.

It took hours, to Bucky’s exasperation, his dad wouldn’t only suggest a change to the essay, but Bucky couldn’t just write down what his dad said, no, Bucky had to rewrite his essay in his own words.

Bucky was close to tearing up his essay, and his copy of “The Crisis” in frustration, but knowing that such behavior would only disappoint his dad, Bucky took a deep breath and moved on to the next paragraph.

“Bucky, could you explain to me what the Sunshine patriot is supposed to be a symbol of?”

“Uh… someone who talks big, but flakes when it comes time to take action?”

“Okay, can you rephrase that without slang?” His dad asked and Bucky sighed gustilly.

“Uh The Sunshine Patriot is someone who talks about the glory of action, but refuses to actually take action when the time comes?” Bucky asked.

His dad beamed at him, “that is better than what I was thinking.”

Eager Bucky rewrote that paragraph adding a few sentences to make his essay clearer.

By the end of the essay, Bucky was regretting skimming the “The Crisis” as George Barnes was determined to make his son an expert on everything he wrote.

“This kind of writing will get easier when you reach High School, but you need to master this if you wanna do well,” George explained encouragingly as Bucky slumped in the desk chair in exhaustion and despair.

“Noooooo, no more,” Bucky pleaded and George chuckled and rubbed his hand on his tired teenager’s head.

“I think we’re done here, and if you keep up your straight A’s, I was thinking--” Bucky’s dad began affectionately, only to stop when they heard a firm knock from the front door. Bucky’s dad stiffened, frowning at the still-closed door.

The room began to chill. Nervously Bucky glanced at his dad, noticing icy whips of cold air seep off his father’s shoulders like a clock. Bucky shivered, and instinctively leaned closer to his dad, not caring that his father was the source of the cold he was now feeling..

“Dad--” Bucky began but his father gently put a finger to his lips.

“Shhh... James, I need you to stay here as quietly as possible, don’t move, and don’t make a sound. I need you to do this for me, okay?” George whispered. The serious tone gave Bucky chills up his spine, and numbly Bucky nodded.

Bucky’s heart began to race.

What if it was a burglar? Wait, no, a burglar wouldn’t bother to knock, unless it was to act as a distraction, or if one of the burglars wanted to knock on the door, and distract his dad so his dad could get ambushed by a bunch of bad men. He remembered hearing at school the story of the teenaged girl who got brutally attacked when she opened her front door after dark, and burglars attacked her and stole everything she owned.

And his kind hearted Dad might be stupid enough to let the pack of burglars in.

Or what if there was some sort of villain here to attack his dad?

Super Villains were trickier, unlike the usual run of the mill crooks, super villains were much more dangerous, they had powers.

His dad had some powers, but his powers were weak, and a full blown super villain could take his dad out with a simple flash of fire, leaving him and Becca to become orphans and his dad a pile of ashes.

But what would they even want? To recruit his dad as an evil minion?

Bucky tried to take a calming breath, but the longer he waited in silence the more he worried something might have happened to his dad.

If he was quiet, maybe he could be there to help?

Slowly Bucky grabbed the stapler. He had heard once that the sound of a stapler being pressed could sound like someone was loading a Glock. Maybe that could be the intimidation he would need in order to help.

Gently he snuck out of the office and quietly made his way down the stairs until he heard voices in the front of the house. He turned a corner and crept down the hallway, thankful for the soft carpet beneath his feet.

Bucky glanced around, thankful the light in the hallway gave him some shadows to sneak into.

“...Barnes, by Order of the Sokovian Accords of 1946, in violation of article six, section twelve, I am authorized to put you under arrest... crimes you have committed ...Super Villain known as Frostbite, you have the right to remain...” A strange deep voice filled the room.

Bucky’s stomach roiled as if he had been slammed in the gut by a stun gun.

His dad? There was no way his dad was the feared Villain Frostbite.

Frostbite was a skilled thief and infiltrator

His dad escorted Bucky to the cash register when Bucky was eight when he almost walked out of a store with a magazine by mistake.

If Frostbite was a ghost, then there was no way Bucky’s easy to find dad would be him.

Frostbite was an unstoppable juggernaut if backed into a corner.

Bucky saw the damage of frozen police cars on the news and footage of Frostbite taking down superheroes before disappearing in a flash of light.

Bucky’s dad wouldn’t let Bucky so much as watch an action movie without a lecture about desensitization of violence in America.

News anchors eagerly repeated theories on Frostbite’s identity. They theorized that Frostbite was a devil may care man who had no regard for the law.

There was no way his no-nonsense dad, the man who wouldn’t let Bucky break any house rules, was a supervillain?

Obviously, they have the wrong man.

“Let him go!” Bucky ordered, stepping forward, “You are breaking and entering!”

Bucky froze when he saw the sight that greeted him before him. And then it felt like his whole body was dunked in ice water.

Crouched aggressively, with his back to Bucky was a stranger in red and white armor with massive muscles. He glanced at Bucky sharp green eyes, glaring at him from behind a half mask.

Beyond the stranger, Bucky could see George Barnes, the coat rack on the floor next to him in splinters. His arms and legs were pinned to the floor by the stranger, but he was looking up, and all Bucky could see was the utter terror on his face.

“James!” George exclaimed, sounding urgent, “what are you doing? I told you to stay in the office, young man!”

Bucky froze, his mind whirling.

What the hell was going on?

Why is his dad being arrested? His dad followed the law, did his job and paid his taxes, and sure his dad was a bad dancer and would not let Bucky go to school with half finished essays

His heart raced, and his numb fingers dropping the stapler with a clatter.

“But--Dad didn’t--You have to have the wrong man!” Bucky sputtered before he felt something hot and hard grab him from behind and pin him to the wall. “Let me go!”

“Don’t hurt him, Commander!” George exclaimed, “if you and your partner let him go, I’ll come quietly. Please, he’s just a child. James had nothing to do with the heist.”

“Dad, no,” Bucky said, shaking his head. His ears were roaring in fear and his stomach boiling in panic at the naked fear in his father’s voice. He swallowed to regain some calm. “You have rights. They can’t arrest you without a warrant, and what if they’re fake heroes? Where are their badges?”

“James!” George exclaimed.

“The kid has a point,” the superhero pinning Bucky to the wall said. She pulled back a little, but not enough for Bucky to break her hold on him as she gently transferred her grip to one hand. With the other she reached into her pocket to pull out a legitimate badge, the kind only issued to superheroes who follow and uphold the Sokovian Accords, the laws written to govern and police all super-beings residing on the Planet Earth.

Badge No: 12201940

Issue Date:06/20/1996

Expiration Date: Never

Codename: Lady Atalanta

Status: Superhero

Bucky looked up at the masked woman, her face was mostly stony and stern under the mask that concealed the upper half of her face, her mouth a firm line. Her blue eyes, however, were soft with empathy.

“Please,” Bucky begged, “he’s innocent. Let him go!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Lady Atalanta said, shaking her head sadly. “I’m going to escort you to your room now…”

“No, please…” Bucky tried to remember what his dad taught about breaking an opponent’s grip if he ever had to fight off kidnappers and the like.

He twisted his left arm out of her grip, feeling his wrist burn in pain until her thumb broke its grip and he ripped it free, and he reared his arm back and…

“James! NO! You stop right now young man!”

Bucky paused, his heart freezing as he instinctively obeyed his father’s command. His dad was a firm man, but not loud; Bucky rarely heard George yell like this, not since Bucky skated out in front of a car when he was ten and his rollerblades slid out from under him.

Only, this time, Bucky had a feeling George wasn’t going to buy him ice cream on the way home from the ER with Bucky’s sprained wrist in a sling.

“Son, it’s going to be alright. I need you to do what she says.”

“But, Dad..” To his shame, Bucky felt his face heat up and a few tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked at his father.

Just like Bucky, his father was still being held down. This time his dad’s captor had moved to his dad’s other side, revealing a pair of glowing cuffs on Dad’s wrists, the kind designed to neutralize most superpowers. Bucky’s dad’s arm, normally encased in ice, with wisps of ice vapor floating off and ice crystals forming on his clothing was gone.

The Golden Eagle of the Superhero League of America twinkled on the front of the large man’s white and red armored uniform, and Bucky saw a matching white half-mask covering Commander America’s face. The Commander pressed Bucky’s dad to the floor. Gingerly, to avoid his dad’s ice-covered arm, Commander America pressed a knee into the middle of his spine. Bucky could see his dad’s familiar blue eyes look up to him.

His dad’s face was contorted with pain, sorrow, and remorse.

Then Bucky couldn’t take it anymore and looked away in shame as his father’s eyes began to well with tears.

“Frostbite, you are under arrest for the Heist of the City Museum Pink Diamond and for Supervilliany. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say after this can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to legal representation, and if you cannot afford one the State may provide you with an attorney. If you come quietly, no harm will come to your family under the Civilian And Child Protection From Super Retaliation Act of 1995...” Commander America said unyielding. Bucky shut his eyes to stem his tears as his breathing came out as sobs.

The Superheros escorted his father into the marked vehicle awaiting them outside the house. Bucky slid to the floor and felt his childhood end. Sitting there, on the floor in the hallway of his childhood home, he knew his and Becca’s life would never be the same.


	2. Chapter One: The Big Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Stage Right: Our hero  
> And the first day of school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while, but here's the next chapter, so enjoy a twenty-page long chapter!  
> Special thanks to my beta reader Chibi-Squirt who performed above and beyond expectations and went over this chapter two to three times, this chapter, this entire fic wouldn't have been as good as it is if she hadn't helped.

“Seriously, Dad, why can’t I just take the bus? You don't have to drive me there.”

“On your first day of Sky High? Steve, it would be my pleasure.”

Steve took a deep breath and leaned against his car seat trying to force down his irritation.

His father eagerly drove them out of the driveway in their Thunderbird, the car’s bright wax glinting in the early morning light, while he was humming along to the radio.

“Ah, I remember my first day at Sky High,” Joseph Rogers said, his voice full of nostalgia as he pulled out of reverse and directed the car down the lane. “I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up, but I knew deep down I was going to do great.”

Yeah, “nervous to the point of vomit” was pretty much exactly what Steve was feeling—along with “embarrassed,” as his dad got misty-eyed about the school he and his family attended for all of two generations.

Or three if you count Great-Aunt Mabel, who actually attended the school, but after she graduated and chose not to pursue a superhero career, the rest of the family conveniently forgets about her frequently. The less said about her being an accountant the better.

But high school had been easy for Steve’s dad. As a young child Joseph Rogers had developed his foresight powers and ability to duplicate combat moves.

Whereas his son, Steve…

Well.

Steven Grant Rogers, the only child of the most powerful Superhero Duo to ever enforce the Sokovian Accords, had absolutely no superpowers.

“Just remember, it’s important to know all the right people. Networking is crucial, so make as many friends as you can, and if you want... I go way back with the vice-principal; Alexander said he’d be happy to take you under his wing…”

“I think I’ve got it, dad.”

“Don’t look at me,” Joseph sniffed, his voice thick with tears. To preserve his dad’s dignity Steve continued to stare out the window. “I just—I’ve dreamed about this since the day you were born, I know you’ll do great.”

Great. No pressure, then.

Steve glanced down at the backpack at his feet. Inside were a couple of old paperbacks from the library, and he had a few ebooks on his phone, too. He’d pick up his school textbooks when classes started tomorrow.

But if he opened any of the library books when he was supposed to be listening to his dad, his father would complain endlessly about Steve not taking his pep talk seriously.

“...And please take the orientation tests seriously. If you don’t pass those tests, you won’t be able to take the more advanced classes and you might wind up stuck with—no, I won’t say it. You’re my son. I know you’ll be the best.”

“And if I don’t pass those tests?”

His dad didn’t answer.

“I mean, I still don’t have my powers,” Steve pointed out. He was kind of hoping his dad would tell him that he’d still be proud of him regardless of how Steve turned out.

“Nonsense! Don’t think like that! That kind of negative thinking will sabotage you. Your powers might be a little late, but that happens. Your powers will show up. The later a power develops, the stronger that power will be. You’re just a late bloomer, son,” Joseph repeated as they pulled up to the family’s private runway.

The Thunderbird pulled up to the gate, and Joseph entered the password on the keypad (Steve’s parents used their wedding anniversary as their entry code). Slowly, the gate creaked open and the car pulled in.

As Joseph was coordinating take off with the flight crew, Steve heard the car’s bluetooth start to ring. With his heart leaping, he glanced at his dad.

Maybe his dad wouldn’t be able to drive him to school and instead would drop Steve off at the bus stop a block away... If Steve caught the bus in the next five minutes he’d be able to get to school on time, and he wouldn’t have to deal with his dad’s well-meaning overenthusiasm.

“Uh, Dad,” Steve said a little hopefully, “Phil’s on the phone.”

“Hm? Oh. In a minute,” Joseph said distractedly as he reached over and pressed the red “Ignore” button on the touchscreen console.

“Uh, don’t you have to call your sidekick back so you can, I don’t know... save the world?” Steve asked. But Joseph must have already finished talking to the flight crew as one of the flight crew began to pull out the signaling cones and the Thunderbird was directed onto the runway.

“Oh, I took the day off, since your mother is working those extra shifts. I wanted to make sure you got all you needed on your first day of Sky High,” Joseph said, beaming at him.

Steve gave up.

He looked down at his backpack where the library book he had just started reading hid. He longed to pick it up, but he didn’t dare, even though his father had returned to waxing nostalgic over the memories of his much younger self.

Joseph drove the car down the path until it was lined up correctly with the runway, talking about a special fountain in the atrium where he had spent some of his spare time hanging out with his friends.

Many of those people were still his friends in adulthood. Steve decided to tune him out before he got way too much information about the adolescent stupidity of some of his “uncles” and “aunts”.

Slowly Steve reached for the slim old paperback in his backpack, making sure his dad’s eyes were firmly on the road in front of them as his father pressed on the gas. Steve could feel the car pick up speed. He glanced at the oncoming ramp and slid the book discreetly onto his lap.

Steve pressed his jacket on his lap into shape to form a privacy screen and hid the book out of his dad’s sight before he thumbed to the beginning of the second chapter, continuing to read about how the protagonist, Ramon Salazar, was given a job in the family pearl diving business on his sixteenth birthday. Ramon’s father talked about the importance of their small business to their nineteenth-century Baja Mexican small town of La Paz as Steve’s stomach dipped gently with the take-off of the flying car.

Steve heard the car’s stereo chime with his father's ringtone. Steve could see Coulson's caller ID and his heart rose; maybe he could take the bus while his dad was whisked away to serve his superhero duty. The second time was the charm, after all.

Then Joseph pressed "ignore call" again.

Maybe the saying was, “third time’s the charm.”

"Aren't you going to get it? It could be important. I mean, doesn’t the world deserve to be protected by the great Commander America?” Steve asked.

“Not as important as my precious son,” Joseph said firmly, and Steve blushed in spite of himself.

After reading the beginning of the birthday party where Ramon had a public touching moment with his father ruined when his father changed the subject by telling Ramon that he needed to pull down his sleeve cuffs to cover his wrists. Ramon explained to the audience that it was because of his father’s shame of having such a small son.

Steve couldn’t help but relate.

His parents never complained about Steve’s thin wrists or stature; if anything, his parents often would talk about how important Steve was to them, that they were proud of him and loved him.

But when in the company of other heroes, his dad would be the first to remind him to “stand up straight.”

Steve couldn’t help but feel that was a reflection of his parent’s real feelings about his small size.

Steve glanced at his father, who had moved on to “important teachers” Steve really needed to know, some of whom were people Steve had met when he was younger.

Coach Phillips, the school gym teacher, in particular, stood out in young Steve’s memory by muttering that Steve’s scrawny shape made him “want to cry” as soon as Steve’s parents had stepped out of hearing range. Did Joseph expect Steve to get buddy buddy with the old grump? No, thank you!

Joseph finished his speech and sat in a slightly hushed silence, Steve looked up from his book, and he could hear the sounds of faint engine sounds in the distance.

“Is that,” Steve began, and Joseph glanced at him with a proud grin and a nod.

“The latest in helicarrier technology? I believe so,” Joseph said proudly, “Steve, I give you Sky High.”

Steve looked out of the Thunderbird’s windshield at the approaching school, which was starting to come into view from the swirl of cloud cover.

The School floated before him like an island in a churning cloud sea, the school was made up of four tightly connected helicarriers with a main building, and three separate wings, facing north, south, and east, with the front office facing west.

The School had the school colors with cream colored walls and vivid red accents and red roof sheets on the school gym, the school lawns and the school football field by the east wing with a few trees by the paths caught Steve’s eye like dark emeralds.

Some sidewalks and paths around the school and lawns like pale veins in a sea of green, red and cream. The flag pole waved with the American flag, the flag of the state of New York, and the red and white flag with the golden eagle of the Superheroes who follow the Sokovian Accords.

His father’s blind faith in him didn’t stop the leaden sinking in his gut.

“And we’re here, so I’ll walk you right in,” Joseph said, finishing his diatribe as Steve noticed that the car was heading to the guest parking lot of the school’s front office, instead of the landing pad or the student parking lot where the other parents were dropping their children off, and without the parents even leaving their cars.

Steve felt a wave of preemptive embarrassment.

“Uh, this not really necessary dad, you don’t really see any of the other parents walking their kids in from the front …” Steve began hastily shoving his book back into his backpack, unbuckling his seatbelt, and exiting the Thunderbird while mentally plotting the fastest route he could take to the door so he could lose his father in the crowd.

“Oh look! There’s Arthur Rumlow,” Joseph exclaimed, and Steve felt a flush of irritation that his dad wasn’t listening to him anymore. Joseph eagerly turned to Steve to explain, “He’s a colleague of mine. You should make friends with his son.”

Joseph wrapped an arm around Steve, almost sweeping him off his feet, foiling Steve’s plans for freedom, again.

Steve could see the school door and the camouflaging crowd shrinking into the distance as he was dragged over to a different part of the parking lot where two tall men in ominously black uniforms were exiting their own flying car. It took Steve a second to realize one of them was actually a teenager with a short buzz cut.

“Arthur! How’s it going?”Joseph called as the two approached them. The older man was giving Joseph a huge grin.

“It’s going fantastic, Joe. I’m just dropping off Brock here for school. What are you doing here? Are you doing a presentation for the new students?” Arthur said in a deep booming voice, placing a proud hand on Brock’s shoulder. The pale teenager grinned at Steve in a rather unpleasant manner like he wanted nothing more than to take Steve down in a fight.

Steve regarded the other teen a little coolly.

“Oh no,” Joseph said rather proudly and pushed Steve toward the other teen as if he were introducing two puppies together in the hope they would play, “Steve, this is my coworker Arthur Rumlow, and his son, Brock. Guys, this is my son Steve Rogers. Today’s Steve’s first day at Sky High, so I wanted to see him off.”

Which Joseph had done already, and yet Steve couldn’t seem to get his dad to leave.

“Stand up straight son,” Joseph whispered into Steve’s ear, his hand pressing on Steve’s spine even more as if that would automatically correct Steve’s posture. Steve noticed his father had already squared up a little.

“Ramon, put down your cuffs.”

Steve stood up and cleared his throat, and the other boy eyed him up and down like he was watching a target.

Steve stood his ground and held eye contact. He wasn’t going to look away and give Brock the satisfaction he was looking for.

“He’s so tiny! I didn’t realize little Steven was old enough for Sky High. That’s great news Joe, Barb and I were wondering about the kid. Did he get your or Sarah’s powers?” Arthur smirked and Steve felt his father tighten his grip on his shoulder.

"I'm fifteen." Steve grumbled, unheeded by the adults."

“Steve’s a bit of a late bloomer, but that’s alright. Late bloomers do run on his mother’s side of the family,” Joseph insisted. Steve won the will power struggle within himself not to roll his eyes, but it was so close the muscles around his eyes ached from the effort.

“Late Bloomer.” It was something Steve had heard his father say frequently since Steve turned twelve years old and failed to manifest at the Rogers Family Powers Deadline.

“And what about Brock here?” Joseph asked.

If Steve hadn’t been watching the other kid, he would have missed how Brock had smirked, bunched up his muscles, puffed up his pectorals, and shot literal bullets out of two-finger guns that he had leveled Steve’s way.

The only thing that kept Steve from taking two bullets to the chest was a lifetime of training from his mom and dad.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Steve exclaimed as by some miracle he managed to dodge the bullets. They ricocheted off of some cars in the parking lot.

Steve lunged forward a quarter of a step, ready to punch Brock in the face and wipe that superior smirk off his face, but his father pulled Steve back to his side.

“Language, Steven Grant,” Joseph scolded and Steve shot his father a dismayed look.

“Dad, he shot at me!” Steve exclaimed in outrage. He ignored the little spark of betrayal.

“Oh, I was just playing. I thought it would help you jump start your powers, Steve,” Brock said. “No harm done, bro.”

Steve glared at the other boy.

“Indeed, just boys being boys,” Arthur continued proudly and he patted Brock on the back.

Steve hated that phrase, and he was a little gratified that his dad shuffled uncomfortably at Arthur Rumlow’s statement. Not enough to say something about it, though.

Steve looked Brock in the eye, and saw a smug gleam. He fought down a dark rage that was starting to boil in his gut.

If Steve didn’t want to be expelled from Sky High for dropping a building on the guy’s head or something, he’d have to come up with some way to deal with Brock Rumlow, and fast.

“Oh, look at the time! Joseph, you should get going if you want to get Steve to Freshman Orientation. Brock, you’ll look out for your little friend, won’t you?”

“No offense Mr. Rumlow, but I think I’ll be fine on my own,” Steve began, and to keep his father from scolding his rudeness he continued, “Your offer is appreciated, but I’ve got this.”

Instead of being offended, Arthur Rumlow looked impressed. “Independent little guy, aren’t you? Good. Too many ninnies come out of this school for my taste. You two will definitely change things around here.”

And with that, Steve led the way to the school’s front entrance with his father following closely behind.

“Well, it’s nice to catch up with some old friends,” Joseph mused.

Steve elected to ignore him. He needed to check into the front office in the next five minutes and the sooner he started Freshman Orientation the sooner he’d get his dad to leave.

“Oh, that tree’s still here!” Joseph exclaimed, oblivious to Steve’s hurry.

“What tree?”

His father pointed.

It was a huge oak tree with a bench and a large rock that was spray painted in the school’s colors of red and cream, and Steve could see why his father would be impressed to see it still there after all these years. It was a huge tree, the only huge tree on the campus, and Steve guessed his dad was impressed that the old tree was still there.

“That’s the tree I first saw your mother under, and I knew, from the moment I saw her, that she would be the woman I’d marry. It was Junior year... A day I’ll never forget,” Joseph sighed.

Steve rolled his eyes. He already knew the story about how his parents met in high school and got together during military college while they were training to be the efficient Superhero team they are now. It was a story his parents liked to tell him frequently in the hopes it would give him guidance in finding the right woman to marry.

Under a tall oak tree, between emerald green leaves and brown earth in the early September morning, sat a breathtaking sight.

He was dressed in a black leather jacket studded with a few silver eyelets and what looked like dark blue skinny jeans. He sat lotus style under the tree with an acoustic guitar across his lap.

He was beautiful. His eyes were partially concealed by locks of long mahogany brown hair with a bright blue highlight on the bangs that framed his face. His plush lips mouthed soft lyrics to a song Steve wished he knew.

Steve could suddenly see his future with this boy, it started with a meet-cute under that tree where Steve would walk over and introduce himself. Then they wouldn’t be able to get enough of each other, they’d share lunch, do homework together, play basketball, punch bullies together, and afterwards Steve would get a one man concert as his love would play his latest song just for Steve.

Then they’d graduate from High School and become an unstoppable superhero duo, where they would work as a team, saving the world, and Steve would keep his love safe and save him from any danger that came their way.

Or perhaps they would wind up in the elite corps where their identities would be kept secret, and both would continue to date and fall in love in their civilian identities, while exchanging witty flirtatious banter while battling super villains, because of course they would share their secret identities to each other…

Then reality set in reminding Steve that he was planning his future with a complete stranger. Which sounded more like something his dad would do more than Steve.

Steve’s heart fluttered when the other boy glanced his way, and his inner monologue ended when the object of his affection looked at his watch and blanched. Hurriedly, the other boy put the guitar away, shut the case, and got up.

There were next to no secrets kept between the members of the Rogers family. Well, except for one big one...

Steve kept one secret away from his dad—both his parents really—a little out of shame, but mostly because he knew his dad would be disappointed. Steve had never told him he was bisexual.

It was a rough journey of self-discovery in eighth grade when Steve discovered a moment where he was swamped with the desire to kiss his friends: his second best friend, Arnie Roth, and the cutest girl in class, Gail. Confused, he awkwardly confessed his feelings to Arnie’s mother, who luckily turned out to be an LBGT activist. She reassured Steve that his feelings were normal and that he was discovering his true self.

“Everyone has a unique experience, and you’re reaching an age where you’re figuring out who you are. Some learn that they fit the gender they were born in, others find that their assigned gender doesn't fit like a bad sweater. Some learn they like someone of the same gender, or a different gender, or all genders, or find that romantic love or the physical act of sex isn’t for them, and that’s okay,” she had reassured him as Steve fidgited next to her. Steve had given her a soft smile when he realized what she was talking about.

That last bit, about how some learn that they like someone of the same gender or all genders, stuck with Steve.

But it wasn’t something he felt ready to tell his parents; after all, he still hadn’t discovered all of his “true self” yet.

Also, Steve knew his father had high hopes of Steve bringing some pretty young superhero girl to prom someday. He didn’t think his father would be too open if it was a pretty young superhero boy instead.

Steve started, enthralled, for one more moment before his father’s voice dragged him back to reality.

“Of course, it looks like standards have slipped a little,” Joseph said with a disappointed sniff as the boy got up and walked away. “Fork the Police” was spray-painted down the front of the guitar case.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to care what his father thought of the other boy who quickly disappeared into the school. “Uh Dad, I’ve got to go…”

Steve’s voice seemed to bring his dad back to the present. “But of course,” Joseph began, awkwardly giving Steve a shoulder squeeze and guiding Steve to the front door of the school. “Have a great day and make me proud.”

Great, no pressure.

***

One thing Steve was thankful for: Brock Rumlow was a Sophomore, which meant he was already in class and wouldn’t bother Steve during Freshman Orientation.

Steve got his student number and temporary ID card now; everything else would be set up as soon as he got his Superhero status the next morning.

His dad would have hovered around for a lot longer, if one of the faculty, an older man with salt and pepper hair and golden glasses, hadn’t gently ushered Joseph out of the school so Steve could pick up the Student Orientation schedule in peace.

Steve quickly blended into the crowd, issued his locker and combination by one of the teachers.

It took Steve minutes to locate it, figure out the combo, and he put his backpack and all but one notebook and binder with a few pens into his locker and quickly made his way to the school auditorium.

Nervously, looking at a sea of new faces as people jostled in and out of the rows in single file lines, Steve spotted a little lifeboat of familiarity in the chaos. Steve ducked and elbowed his way over to an old friend with a warm feeling in his chest.

“On your left,” Steve said as soon as he reached Sam’s side.

Sam jumped a little in his seat and scowled until he realized it was Steve, then burst into laughter.

Steve and Sam had been best friends since preschool, when Steve shared his crayons with the kid who sat next to him so Sam could finish his mommy’s birthday card, and Sam helped Steve figure out how to count past forty so Steve could earn the cool star eraser in the school fair.

The rest of their childhoods they were the best of friends. Sometimes, when Steve’s parents had missions that lasted days, Steve spent the night at Sam’s place. Sam’s parents were the few civilians in a family of Superheroes, and Sam’s siblings played with Steve on occasion.

“You ever gonna stop saying that?” Sam chuckled as he gestured to Steve to sit next to him., Steve was quietly delighted when Sam lifted his notebook up out of the seat and sank into the chair with relief.“Never,” he said with a laugh. Then, as he took in his best friend’s body language, he added, “So I guess you had a good weekend?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I still had to put up with some of my aunt’s enthusiasm about having another superpowered kid in the family. It’s a little weird because even Mom and Dad aren't that excited—proud yes, but not excited. What about you, Steve?”

“Dad nearly burst into tears multiple times this morning,” Steve grumbled, sinking further into his seat.

“Wow,” Sam said before tapping on Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the girl sitting on his other side.

"I'm like the third after Aunt Peggy to get my powers, so I missed the embarrassing fanfare," the girl said. "Hearing you two compain makes me glad my family is normal. Carter, Sharon Carter."

"Steve Rogers," Steve said, shaking her firm hand.

"No kidding? Sounds like you’ve got some huge shoes to fill," Sharon said frankly. At least it sounded like she got it; like Rogers, Carter was a last name associated with powerful heroes.

Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably when he saw Sharon glance at his notebook. "Is that an Avengers sticker?"

"Yeah, I should probably peel it off." Steve hastily began reaching for it. He had liked the band until their latest album…

"It's okay, I get it. Still don't know what they were thinking with Endgame, though. Do you think they sold out?"

"I heard their two lead singers are retiring," Sam added.

Sharon shrugged.

"That sounds most likely,” Steve said. “I mean, when the songs are good, they're great, but…" He tipped his head to the side a little, leaving the sticker on his notebook alone.

"But it's the worst songs of the album that become hits," Sharon agreed. "Steve, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine."

"I know, right?" Steve laughed as the auditorium suddenly dimmed and the lights went out, causing the crowd to quiet.

Suddenly the stage lights flashed on revealing a podium. An intimidating man with an eye patch dressed in all-black leather marched onto the stage with a swish of his trenchcoat.

The room filled with a hushed silence as the man began his speech. "Good morning, Class of 2023, and welcome to Freshman Orientation."

"I am Principal Fury. If you are smart and understand our school's conduct—and behave appropriately—you will not be seeing much of me. And believe me, that is a very good thing."

Steve heard a kid behind him gulp in intimidation.

"But since today's your first day, I'm here to lay some ground rules. Being passed to you right now is a copy of the rules."

Sam gently elbowed Steve and handed him a few sheets of colored copy paper.

"I will go over these rules only once, and you are expected to follow them.

“Rule number one: This school's sole purpose is to train you to use your gifts and powers, and that should only be done in a classroom setting under the guidance and supervision of your teachers. This means I better not get word that you guys are using your powers in the hallways. They are only for class work and extracurriculars."

The hallway filled with quick whispers that died as soon as Principal Fury spoke again.

“Rule Number Two: This school has a zero tolerance policy for fighting and violence. Unless it’s in combat classes or sports, you will not harm a hair on another student’s head—or any other person on this school campus.”

The principal continued, listing the rules with a skill of command that Steve had seldom seen outside of movies or a few of his parent’s colleagues. He used silence and pauses to punctuate his point, and when he finished the rules Principal Fury stepped back from the Podium.

“If you break any of the rules except for rule number two, you are given three strikes. Strike one will get you automatic detention and your parents or guardians will be called. Strike two you will be sent immediately to Vice Principal Pierce’s office. Strike three… You’ll be speaking to me.”

Steve heard some kids shuffle uncomfortably before the Principal seemed to nod. “With that being said... Here are Vice Principal Pierce and Guidance Counselor Rasputin, who will explain the government-mandated categories of Superhero and Sidekick.”

Principal Fury disappeared in a swirl of a black trenchcoat and two new men climbed onto the stage.

Vice Principal Pierce was a middle aged older man with silvering strawberry-blond hair and a crisp suit. Guidance Counselor Rasputin was a tall muscular man made entirely of silver plating, like a giant suit of armor, with a black buzz cut.

“Welcome, Students, to Sky High. You are the newest of a great legacy: it is your destiny to protect humanity from crime and supervillainy of the future,” the Vice Principal began. Steve thought it was a strange mission statement that differed slightly from Didn’t Principal Fury state that the purpose of this school was to train their powers?

“We are here to guide you into discovering the best version of yourself, the true hero that every single one of you has the potential to become,” Guidance Counselor Rasputin said, his voice filled with hope and pride rather than Pierce’s stern belief.

“At the start of the twentieth century when the first super powered humans were born, humanity reached a new level of evolution. By the time World War II began, superheroes had risen to the challenge of protecting humanity, and uphold truth, justice, and peace in this world order,” Pierce continued, pulling out a small remote. A powerpoint clicked on behind him with some photographs of glowing human babies and World War II heroes, including a soldier who lifted a tank single handedly while cradling an injured civilian to his chest.

That picture in particular stood out to Steve; he found himself staring, and the image of his paternal grandfather stared right back at him. It was one of several images his dad had around the house.

“After the war, there was a rise in supervillains to fill in the power vacuum left by the defeated evil of the Axis powers; with the rise in villains and the panic with the rise of communism in Eastern Europe, came the rise in needing to keep the heroes and villains in check. So the world powers got together and drafted the Sokovian Accords.”

Another click in the powerpoint, and this time Steve can see a black and white image of Grandfather Rogers shaking hands with a politician.

“The Sokovian Accords were written to police super powered individuals all over the world. The Accords define superpowered people as ‘humans with traits and abilities that are unable to manifest in mundane humans’ and then further categorized supers into categories: Superheroes, Supervillains, and Sidekicks. We only teach Superheroes and Sidekicks at this school.”

“Yeah, because nobody’s born a Supervillain... They gotta have an origin story,” Steve muttered quietly. Sam nudged him in the ribs.

“By law, we are required to offer classes for both Sidekicks and Superheroes, so after lunch you are going to be tested. I urge you to take these tests seriously: most of the colleges we partner with will only accept students with Superhero standing.”

“But Sidekicks have valuable places in society, too!” Guidance Counselor Rasputin cut in. “They get the paperwork done, maintain all the supplies the Superheroes need to save the world, and will enter into the fight themselves in times of great need to help the heroes when the world is in peril.”

Steve took a deep breath. He had heard some of this stuff before.

His parents both had pretty standard relationships with their sidekicks.

His mother’s sidekick, Andromeda, was also his godmother. One time, when Steve was eight, Sarah Rogers had come home furious and smelling of blood and brine. Steve had sneaked out of his room to listen to his parents talk over tea, and sat on the stairs with bated breath listening to his mother recount the story while his father listened just as intently as their son.

That day, Andromeda had been kidnapped by a group of cultists that she and Sarah had been trying to track down and arrest for a missing person’s case. Sarah Rogers, known as Lady Atalanta to her enemies, had discovered her sidekick about five minutes before Andromeda was sacrificed to a sea monster. Lady Atalanta was able to single handedly fight the cultists off all by herself, her super strength and healing making it possible for her to kick ass, take names, and bring her kidnapped sidekick home along with all the other surviving kidnapping victims.

Inspired by his mother’s bravery and fierce protective spirit, that same afternoon Steve had picked another fight with one of the playground bullies. Sarah had sighed in dismay, but Joseph had proudly said, “That’s my boy.”

Steve was dragged back to the present when Sam started to get up. Steve realized he had spaced out during the Guidance Counselor speech and the students were now being ushered from the auditorium into the cafeteria.

“Remember,” Vice Principal Peirce called out, “after lunch the placement test begins, so report to the gym when the bell rings.”

Steve followed Sam and Sharon in a single file line out of the auditorium through a door that led to an atrium, with the cafeteria on the far side.

In the middle of the atrium was a fountain. In the middle of the fountain was a statue of a superhero with his bronze arm wrapped around the waist of a pretty girl in torn clothing and a sidekick beaming up at him. Water jets spouted all around him into the pool down below. Koi fish circled around the statue’s feet, and Steve got the impression the artist didn’t realize that the koi fish swimming around the pond were reminiscent of a school of sharks.

“Come on, let’s grab a table before they fill up or we discover there’s some social-order-dictated, pseudo-assigned seating,” Sam suggested.

Sharon nodded. “My aunt attended this school, so I think I have an idea where the best seating is from her stories. Like... the north east corner gets the most amount of sun, and that’s where the garbage smells the worst,” Sharon said. She led the way to a table already occupied by about three other kids, with room for three more people.

Steve caught a glimpse of a familiar streak of black hair, and turned his gaze away quickly before Brock Rumlow could spot him and make him sit with him. He really didn’t want to see how strictly they would enforce the second rule on his first day of school.

Steve sat down quickly next to a kid with blond curly hair and grimey glasses. There was a strong odor wafting off the boy, like a pile of burned grass clippings that got sprayed by a skunk… After a second, Steve realized in naive amazement that this was what pot smells like.

“Hey,” the kid said looking up as he noticed Steve taking a seat. Steve held still, and Sam who was sliding into the seat next to him also froze while Sharon took her seat next to the girl. For a second, Steve worried the seat might be taken, but the kid just nodded and said,“You’re new here.”

“Yeah... It's the first day of school...” Steve said slowly.

“Oh don’t mind Weasel, that’s his way of greeting the little freshies,” the other boy said, opening his lunch box. “Damn it, they put a salad in my tacos!”

Unlike “Weasel,” this boy wore a mask in red and black, with the bottom of the mask rolled up to reveal what looked a lot like burn scars all over his chin. He made eye contact with Steve, as if daring Steve to tell him that he looked like the love child to two avocados or something.

Steve almost looked away, but instead shrugged. If he was going to go to this school he would act like powers that mutate people’s appearances were no big deal, especially since Steve knew he himself looked like a chihuahua that had taken human form with his short stature and scrawny, scrapy frame.

He pulled out his own lunch, with a basic sandwich, apple, carrots, and a juice box—still cold because Steve had pulled it out of the freezer that morning—and started eating.

“So, you guys are freshmen?” That was the third person at the table: a girl with long dark hair, casually fiddling with a ring pop on her finger.

“That obvious, huh?” Sam asked.

“You guys look so tiny, you’ve gotta be. I’m Vanessa Carlyle. Want my advice to survive this school? Get used to people bragging about their powers. It's kind of all anybody really cares about here.”

“Really?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, especially at the beginning of the school year when the freshmen start figuring out their powers,” the boy in the mask said. “You start figuring out who's been sorted into Superhero and Sidekick really quickly. It’s like getting sorted into Hogwarts houses.” He began to pick out the small bits of taco meat among the salad greens. “I’m Wade Wilson, and the Audience probably already knows my powers.”

“Okay…” Steve decided to just move on from that strange comment. He noticed Weasel was staring at him intently. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Do you want me to predict your future?” Weasel asked baldly. “I mean, I’m really bad at it, and I often predict the opposite of what happens, but I think one of these days I’ll get it. I might even predict what your power’s going to be.”

“Weasel, don’t bother the freshmen. If they don’t already know what their powers are, they’ll figure it out on their own.” Vanessa rolled her eyes as she took a bite of a bagel she pulled out of her lunch.

“Most of us have already figured out our powers,” Sam said with a shrug, “but thanks for the offer.”

Steve remembered hearing about Sam’s awakening, which came while Sam was performing in his dad’s choir. He’d turned a beautiful rendition of “Black Bird” by the Beatles into Alfred Hitchcock’s movie The Birds when he summoned every wild fowl in a three-mile radius.

Sam had decided not to sing again until he’d had proper training.

Joseph, however, was still awaiting Steve’s powers with bated breath, and Sarah reminded Steve that she had gotten her awakening during her test. Rumor had it there was still a dent in the gym ceiling where Sarah had thrown a piece of equipment hard enough it got stuck there after some idiot startled her.

Steve kind of hoped he’d follow in his mother’s footsteps.

“Well, that’s good; you don’t wanna hear what happens to the late bloomers,” the boy in the mask muttered bitterly.

“Wade,” Vanessa scolded, “don’t scare them.”

Steve looked at Wade a little nervously. “What happens to the late bloomers?” he asked.

“Well for one thing, the School’s not going to do shit when your parents get sick of waiting and decide—”

“Wade Wilson, there you are!” The great silvery form of their guidance counselor appeared from behind Steve’s peripheral, and walked around the table to stand behind Wade. “You’re late for our lunch appointment in my office, Mr. Wilson.”

“Oh, hey there, Colossus. Is it that time of day again?” Wade asked sarcastically, pulling down his mask to conceal his scars.

“There’s nothing wrong with getting a little guidance now and then, Mr. Wilson. Now, we have a lot to discuss, and little time since I will be too busy to see you for the rest of the day.” Mr. Rasputin ushered Wade out of his seat and gathered up his lunch.

“Oh no,” Wade said in false distress.

“You’re not going to go hungry,” Mr. Rasputin reassured him. “Now tell me, how was your summer?”

Steve felt his stomach drop as the two walked away. Steve suddenly wondered if he’d be called into Counselor Rasputin’s office after the test when the school realized that Steve had no powers…

Suddenly, his lunch didn’t seem so appetizing.

What did they do to late bloomers?

Steve sat though the rest of lunch without eating, suddenly worried about what the future might hold. He had a feeling that the big orientation test his dad was so eager to see the results of might be the very thing that would ruin his young life.

The bell rang, and Steve hastily tried to put his barely eaten lunch back into his lunch bag in the hopes he’d do it before before Sam could notice or comment on it. Sure enough, as soon as he stood up, Sam frowned at him.

“Steve, you’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly, but Steve’s stomach still churned with nerves. He almost felt like throwing up until he made eye contact with another student. It was the boy with long brown hair from the oak tree this morning. He was sitting at a table with a lethal-looking redhead in black clothing, and a kid with a bright purple bandage on his nose.

Steve quickly glanced away from the angel; he wasn’t about to let his little crush distract him.He opted instead to follow Sam into the gymnasium where all the other freshmen were being ushered into the bleachers.

Standing in front of the bleachers stood Vice Principal Pierce, silently waiting for the final bell.

“Alright,” Peirce began. The auditorium fell into silence. “We’re going to spend the rest of the afternoon testing you all one by one. For the first half of the test, you’ll fill out your answers on the Scantrons being passed around. Use a number two pencil, fill them out carefully and accurately, and keep them when you’re done. For the second half of the test,we’ll call your name in Alphabetical order to test your powers. At that time, we will also accept the first half of your test.”

“The actual test of your powers will be done in the football field.” That made sense, since some powers weren’t safe to demonstrate inside. “If you have already awakened, we will ask for a demonstration of your powers. If not, we will use some equipment to test for any potential powers. Afterwards, we will send you to your homerooms. There you will meet your homeroom teacher, and you will get your test results. Any questions?”

The gym echoed with absolute silence as the last of the scantrons and pencils were passed around.

“Good. Your test begins… now.”

The first test was easy for Steve; growing up in the Rogers household meant Steve was taught Superhero history at his parent’s knees, and current Superhero politics was common dinner table talk.

Steve already knew the most effective way to rescue a cat from a tree, as well as the five steps for starting a rescue for civilians (the most common mistake was forgetting step one, assessing the situation for what the hidden danger might be, a common but often deadly mistake).

Others questions weren’t so easy, like the trolley problem question: flick the switch to sacrifice one person, or leave it so the entire trolley of people die when the bridge collapses? Steve didn’t believe in sacrificing the one person, but also firmly believed that willfully choosing to do nothing to help people was just as evil.

The worst part of the question was that it wasn’t an open ended essay question where Steve could come up with a better idea of stopping the trolley, or warning the civilian to get off the track. What kind of sicko made a multiple choice question with no good answer!?

Irritated, Steve left the question blank for now.

Slowly, as the students finished the tests and awaited their turn for their names to be called, the gymnasium began to fill with the clamor of hopeful teenager chatter.

Steve waved Sharon off when the “C”s were called, and she returned just ten minutes later to pick up her stuff.

“It’s a piece of cake” she whispered to Sam and Steve as she gathered up her backpack, patted Sam on the back for watching her stuff, and sashayed out of the gym.

“Maybe they’ll figure out what my power is,” Steve began nervously and Sam glanced at Steve.

“Even if they don’t, my dad said there are superheroes without powers; they just use a talent or skill that they’re trained to be super good at,” he pointed out seriously. “He also told me that if I do my best but still don’t get into a university, I can build up community college credits and then transfer into a better school.”

“That can’t be possible,” Steve said slowly. It sounded nothing like what his parents and his teachers told him since elementary school; they had all said he had to get good grades, get into the Superhero class in high school, continue to get good grades, and then get into college in order to have a future.

That was the way of the world.

“It is possible, Steve. Just ask my mom, she’s got this whole speech set up and everything,” Sam insisted.

“Rogers, Steven,” one of the teachers called from the door leading to the football field.

“Good luck man!” Sam cheered, and Steve gave him a slightly queasy grin.

Steve grabbed his backpack, since he wasn't sure he’d feel up to coming back in to pick it up like Sharon did. Sam gave him a thumbs up and Steve returned it.

Maybe he could hang around and watch Sam’s demonstration…

Steve walked out of the gymnasium to where Pierce stood, holding his hand out for the scantron sheet. Pierce glanced down and back up before looking at Steve.

“You left the trolley question blank…That’s a major portion of your test score.” Pierce asked.

Steve nodded. “I couldn’t find an answer that I felt satisfactory, and I think that there could be a better solution,” he said.

Peirce regarded him and then sighed with condescending sadness. “Oh, young Rogers... I’m afraid you’re going to have to learn that sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good. I know your parents understand that well.”

Steve gritted his teeth. He knew that there was a better answer, but the test wouldn’t let him put that down.

“It’s your turn for the powers test. I look forward to seeing what you can do.” Pierce clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder and smiled avuncularly as he waved him on.

Steve nearly gritted his teeth but instead stuck his chin up and proceeded towards the row of tables in the middle of the football field.

All the teachers watched him with keen eyes before Steve saw the familiar old grumpy Coach Phillips, someone Steve hadn’t seen since his parent’s last christmas party. Coach Phillips got up with what looked like a geiger counter which he waved over Steve’s outstretched hands. He recorded the reading, and then led Steve to a scale where a school nurse stood nearby with a clipboard.

“Nope, 98.9,” Phillips muttered looking at two little dials on the scale, and the nurse wrote them down.

“Mr. Rogers, have you been able to produce bioluminescence?”

“No,” Steve said.

“Have you been able to harness telekinesis or teleportation?”

“No.”

“Have you been able to light stuff on fire with pyrokinesis or freeze things with Cryokinesis?”

“Nope.”

“Can you read minds or detect lies? Or have you been able to predict the future?”

“No, nope, and no.”

Steve scowled at Phillips as he sighed sadly.

“Work with me here, Rogers. Have you been able to manifest any kind of superpower?”

“No. Dad says I’m just a late bloomer,” Steve shrugged.

“Fine, Rogers. Run four laps, we’ll time you; let’s see if that light frame comes with superspeed. Now go, go, go!” Coach Phillips barked on Steve’s heels. The other teachers began to furiously take notes as Steve, regretting not changing into his gym clothes, began to run the laps. Afterwards, they had him breathe into a breathalyzer, which aggravated Steve’s asthma.

He tested negative for ice or fire breath.

He couldn’t lift the heaviest dumbbells or chuck a discus farther than two feet in a rather depressing flop.

Teachers began to sigh when angering Steve didn’t make him change size or shape, or combust into flame.

After that, they showed Steve pictures of stillborn kittens until he was nearly driven to tears, but even those tears failed the test. (Afterwards, the teacher apologized for having to upset him; both he and Steve agreed it had been kind of a dick move.)

Sharon Carter may be able to detect lies, but Steve was ready to accuse her of lying: the test was definitely not a piece of cake.

Steve was emotionally exhausted by the time he was dismissed.

“We’ll have your test results by the end of the day. Please report to your homeroom teacher, who will explain the rest of the school year to you.” Coach Phillips gestured for the next student to come forward.

Steve caught a glimpse of Sam leaving the gym, heading for his turn, and paused to watch his friend take the test.

Steve was waiting by the door, too far away to hear what Sam and the teachers were saying, but he could see Sam’s confidence when he put his backpack down and coughed a little to clear his throat.

Three…

Two…

One…

For a second, Steve could faintly hear Sam sing the opening lines to “Black Bird” before the sound was lost under the flapping of wings. Almost like a swarm of locusts, a flock of songbirds approached and hovered around Sam, chirping along with him like they were his backup singers. Steve caught a glimpse of a flash of red from the school roof and the other birds scattered, fleeing as Sam turned to look. Before everyone’s eyes, none more astonished than Sam’s, a falcon perched on Sam’s shoulder and started grooming itself.

The teachers began to furiously take notes again and Phillips ushered Sam to leave, the falcon still clinging tightly onto Sam’s shoulder.

Steve shoved down a little envy. Sam didn’t have to run laps or lift things or have a teacher tell him a sad little story, and he got a new pet out of the whole thing.

Steve clapped when Sam got near, only for the falcon to glare at him for making noise until Sam hummed a little and soothed it.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Sam asked.

“And miss this? No way!” Steve said, and despite himself, Sam grinned.

***

Steve made his way to his homeroom, which had been assigned based on alphabetical order: “Freshmen Homeroom Students P-T.” Sam, whose last name was Wilson, waved Steve off and he made his way down the hall.

Steve watched with a little envy as the falcon kept her perch on Sam’s shoulder, she adjusted her talons so she wouldn't scratch Sam. No teacher in their right mind would separate a Superhero from his newly-found familiar.

Resignedly, Steve entered his homeroom and wasn’t surprised to find it was a room filled with bored teenagers and a teacher who simply glanced up at Steve.

“You’re late Mr. Rogers,” the teacher said, holding out sheets of paper for Steve to grab. “I’m Mr. Kirby. Please take your seat.”

The next two hours were spent sitting through a lecture from Mr. Kirby about how the school schedule worked and looking over the various classes. Some were labeled “Sidekick Only” or “Superhero Only”, while others were labeled “Both Sidekick and Superheroes.”

Tomorrow Morning Steve would get his full class schedule when Steve’s test results were finished being entered into the system.

Steve grew really bored when the teacher brought up the final powerpoint presentation about the school, and after a few moments another teacher arrived to drop a series of envelopes on Mr. Kirby’s desk for him to pass out.

“Remember,” Mr. Kirby said disinterestedly as he passed out the test score envelopes by student last names, “You need to return here for homeroom tomorrow and we’ll pick up your schedule after morning announcements.You’re test results are already in the system, so all your classes are scheduled except for your electives which you will pick and sign up for online during homeroom.”

Steve left homeroom clutching his unopened test score envelope with his backpack slung over his shoulder, and as he glanced around looking for Sam or Sharon, he collided into something firm.

“Whoa, careful!” a masculine voice said as a pair of hands steadied Steve by the shoulders. Steve’s heart began to race and his stomach churned as he looked up into two blue eyes.

“Thanks,” Steve said.

“First day here?” The other boy asked. Steve could see that it was the boy from under the tree, the one with the guitar. Up close Steve could confirm that the other was definitely wearing skinny jeans, and under the leather jacket Steve could see a familiar logo of the Avengers band.

“Yeah, I’m Steve.” Desperately searching for something to say, he blurted, “Nice jacket!”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky said, holding his hand out for a handshake, which Steve returned, feeling electric bolts crawl up his arm from where Bucky’s palm held his, “and thanks, I studded it myself.”

“Wow,” Steve said awkwardly, his brain buzzed before his common sense rallied itself and shook him back to the present. “So which way to the exit?”

“This way, if you don’t mind following me to the bandroom; my locker is over there.” Bucky smiled, and Steve smiled back. Thank god he had finally met someone here who was nice!

“So, you like the Avengers?” Steve asked as he started following Bucky, ducking to Bucky’s other side when he caught a glimpse of Rumlow. A second later, Rumlow had disappeared in the crowd.

“Yeah, I used to. I still don’t know how I feel about the band splitting up. My friends and I, uh... we’re thinking of starting our own band.” Bucky led Steve down a set of stairs where the walls were painted with murals of marching band instruments and music notes.

“Really? Have you written any songs?” Steve asked.

“Right now I’m practicing with some covers, but I do have one I’ve been working on,” Bucky shrugged bashfully as he reached a locker, did the combination and pulled out a backpack, some textbooks, and a black guitar case with “Fork the Police” in bright white spray paint. There were a few chips in the letters where the paint had been worn off, but they were only noticeable up close.

“So are you taking the bus, or are your parents picking you up?” Bucky asked. Steve jumped, realizing that he had been... staring dreamily at Bucky, instead of responding? Oh, no...

“I think my dad’s picking me up,” Steve admitted, looking up at Bucky’s eyes. He could stare into those warm comforting grey blue eyes, almost like winning a staring contest with a storm cloud on a hot summer day.

“The parking lot’s this way,” Bucky said, leading Steve down the hallway and out the exit doors to where Steve could see Sam and Sharon in the distance.

“Do you wanna meet my friends?” Steve asked, half expecting the older boy to scoff at the idea of meeting freshmen.

“Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do right now,” Bucky said. So Steve eagerly led the way through the crowd where Sam and Sharon, finally spotting Steve, waved to get his attention.

“Hey guys, this is Bucky Barnes. Bucky, these are my friends, Sam Wilson and Sharon Carter.” Steve said.

“Is that a falcon?” Bucky asked, and the falcon in question began to preen her wings.

“Yeah, she says she’s my new familiar,” Sam said, and Steve had a feeling this was a common occurance at the school since Bucky didn’t seem to bat an eye.

“So… did you guys get your test scores?” Sharon asked, holding up her envelope.

“Yeah...” Steve fished in his bag for his envelope.

“We’ll open ours up on three,” Sam offered, “One… two…”

Steve ripped the top of his envelope one a smooth motion. He pulled free the papers and scanned the results.

He got an 85% on Superhero Technique and Theory, and a Morally Gray in Ethics (which Steve thought was bullshit; it had to be because Peirce wrote that portion of the test, with the stupid trolley question). As for the superpowers…

Steve hadn’t realized that test scores could go so low.

“Wow, they determined I’ve got Ornitho-Telekinesis. With superhero class!” Sam punched the air, and Steve shoved his test sheet into his backpack before patting him on the back.

“Human Polygraph,” Sharon announced.

“So you can detect lies, that can be pretty useful,” Bucky neatly said, and then Bucky turned to Steve, “What about you?”

“Oh, I uh…” Steve must have looked dismayed, because Bucky’s face softened with understanding.

“It’s okay if you aren’t ready to tell us. My buddy Clint’s got—”

“Steve! I’m over here!”

Steve turned around, turning around from facing his friend and the school to the parking lot behind him. He was expecting the Thunderbird to pull up, but not the parent driving it.

“Mom?” Steve asked bewildered, “I thought Dad was going to pick me up?”

His mother got out of the family thunderbird and walked over to give Steve a hug.

“Phil called with a work emergency, and I convinced your dad that since he dropped you off, it was only fair I picked you up from your first day of school,” Sarah Rogers said. “So, who are your new friends?”

“Well, Sam you already know, and this is Sharon Carter, and this is…” Steve pointed out Sam and Sharon, but by the time he turned to Bucky, his words were caught in his throat.

Bucky’s face, earlier filled with understanding, was now hardened with a cold fury. His blue-grey eyes were no longer warm; now, they reminded Steve of a frozen lake in the depths of winter in the movies, or that Game of Thrones show Steve wasn’t allowed to watch.

“I’m just leaving, and don’t get lost again,” Bucky said. He turned on his heel to leave, disappearing into the crowd.

Steve blinked in surprise and hurt, but that didn’t surprise him as much as his mother’s grip on his shoulder. She only did that when she thought something was up and wanted to get Steve to safety.

“Well, we’d better get going. I’m sure you’ll make a ton of new friends tomorrow at school. Sam, it’s wonderful to meet you Sharon?” Steve’s mother asked.

“Oh, nice to meet you too,” Sharon said with a surprised look at Bucky’s direction before she turned back to Steve’s Mom.

“Oh, are you by any chance related to Peggy Carter?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, she’s my aunt.”

“Oh, that’s great, I’ve had to work with her a few times, she’s one hell of a hero,” Sarah said, “I wish I could talk more, but I have a bit of a time crunch,” and she began to drag Steve to the Thunderbird.

“Mom...? What was that?” His mom’s voice had taken on an odd brittle tone after he tried to introduce her to Bucky.

“It’s nothing, Steven.” She opened the car door, and Steve, having little choice, got in.

He doubted she’d talk unless they have the privacy of the car, and his patience was rewarded after his mom drove them out of the parking lot and into the air.

“What did that young man say to you, Steve?” his mom asked.

“Bucky didn’t say anything. I met him in the hallway; I got lost, and he led me out. He was really nice…” Steve began and his mother sighed.

“They all seem nice at first, Steve. And I’m proud that you can see the best in people! You can be very inspiring, my sunshine boy.”

“But?” Steve asked.

“J-just be careful, sometimes you don’t realize you’ve been lied to until it’s too late, and he certainly didn’t want to stick around to meet your mother...”

“You don’t know him; he said he’s part of a band, he was probably late for practice,” Steve pointed out. He was probing, and he didn’t care; he wanted to get to the bottom of Bucky’s sudden coldness as well as his own mother’s shady perception of him, and he had a feeling she knew more than she was letting on. “You don’t even know his name.”

“I know more than I can tell you, Steve,” his mom said firmly, “but for your sake, please stop asking me or your father for classified information, again.”

“Fine,” Steve said.

He wasn’t going to give up on Bucky, but he was definitely going to stop asking his mom for more information.

After a few moments of quiet Sarah changed the car’s trajectory away from the Rogers’ private landing strip and towards the town’s shopping district. His mother had decided to take the scenic route home.

That meant his mother wasn’t done talking to him.

“So, how was school?” she finally asked.

“Fine.”

“How did the test go? Do you have your results yet?”

Steve looked out the window, trying to forget the sheets of paper shoved deep into his backpack like it was a token of shame, “Fine—and no, I get those later.”

Steve wasn’t proud that he lied to his mom, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I know you’re worried about the superpowers portion, but that’s alright, Steve. I’m already very proud of you, and your powers will come when you least expect it. Just be patient,” Sarah insisted.

“What makes you so sure?” Steve asked, feeling shame churn in his gut as he looked out the window staring at the clouds shift outside.

“Because superpowers come at their own pace. They come out when you’re ready and not a minute sooner. It’s like when a baby takes his first steps; he’ll walk when he’s ready,” his mom said affectionately.

Steve rolled his eyes, mentally counting to three. Right on cue, his mom started telling a story from his childhood.

“You didn’t want to walk until you were a little over a year old, so your father and I took you to a beach so you could practice using the sand to strengthen your little legs.” Her voice took on a sing-song quality and Steve rolled his eyes and began to mouth along, “Suddenly, you spotted something and you kept chasing after it. It was remarkable, you jumped from furniture-cruising to sprinting without tripping or falling. We watched you for a bit, waiting for you to come back—”

"But I didn't," Steve put in, remembering this part of the story.

"You didn't," Sarah agreed, "and you wandered too far away, so that your father and I went after you. When you saw us coming, you ran even faster, making us chase after you down the whole beach.”

“We were so proud that you figured out how to walk on your own, and you threw a tantrum when we caught you because we wouldn't let you explore.”

“So are you saying my powers are just being stubborn?” Steve summarized for his mother before he lost her to her misty-eyed nostalgia.

“They will come on in a moment when you are ready, and only idiots would rush that,” she insisted, and satisfied she got to discuss with him what she wanted to discuss with him, she changed the car’s trajectory again, aiming for the landing strip.

Steve and his mother didn’t say a word, falling in to a comfortable silence, Sarah occasionally glancing at Steve with proud eyes while Steve mulled over what she said.

The silence remained after they pulled up to their residential street, only for the silence to be broken when Sarah reminded Steve to hang his jacket up instead of dropping it onto the floor.

Steve put his books down and went to the family computer to check on his emails when his phone buzzed.

Sam: Steve? Everything okay? You seemed a little off when we were talking about test scores.

Steve: I'm fine Sam. the test says I'm a late bloomer, that's all

He had to be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black Lives Matter.  
> Black Trans Lives Matter, Black Queer Lives Matter, Black Disabled Lives Matter, Black Male Lives Matter, Black Female Lives Matter.  
> Black Lives Matter.  
> I've been donating to the American Civil Liberties Union, and I urge you all to stay safe in these trying times and take care of yourselves the best you can.  
> Love you all and thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter Two: The Big Injustice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has had a busy morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the update in the tags as they foreshadow/spoil some future plot points in the fic, so if you guys get angry with how Bucky gets treated, don't worry things are going to change.  
> The unreliable narrator is mostly because this fic is mostly in the POV of teenagers who aren't going to know about some stuff happening behind the scenes, but they are noticing some stuff.  
> Thanks for being so patient while I worked on updating this fic, the chapter was in Steve POV originally but it fought me until I switch to Bucky's POV and then the next twenty pages just wrote themselves XD.

Bucky woke to the sound of his cellphone and blindly reached for it.

It was still dark out and would be for another two hours. Today, the sun would rise at six-forty-five.

In the dark, Bucky pulled up his phone’s image gallery and scrolled to the familiar picture.

It was an old photo of Bucky’s family, back when it was still whole.

Their mother, Winifred Barnes, was laughing, her children tucked tightly in her arms, both children looking at the camera making silly faces. Behind them was the picturesque lake, with a mountain reflected in the serene mirror-calm surface and trees painting the landscape green.

Bucky tried not to think about how his mother looked so drawn and tired in the picture.

As a child, her joy had given him the impression that nothing was wrong.

He tried not to think about how a week after the picture was taken his mother had been rushed to the hospital after his dad found her collapsed in the living room.

Tried not to think about the grim prognosis or the desperate attempts his family had tried to treat her.

How skeletal thin she got in the end, chemo taking away her hair.

All for nothing.

Bucky then tried not to think about how desperately he had clung to the man in the photo, his left arm wrapped around his wife and children, the other holding up the camera.

Now Bucky was sixteen, his mother dead for five years, and his father--Frostbite had been in prison for two.

“I’m up Mom, please look out for us, okay?” Bucky whispered, too numb to cry as he gently touched the screen, looking at the last photo taken of his mother alive.

Then he took a deep centering breath and got up.

The rest of the house was quiet, but Bucky preferred it that way as he dressed, checked on the tie of the garbage bag containing his work clothes, and worrying about how slack the straps got, and he tugged the strap tighter. The last thing he wanted was for those stupid groupies that follow Rumlow to figure out that Bucky worked at—.

“Buck, you up?”

Becca.

Did Bucky wake her, or did she have another nightmare?

Silently like a ghost, Bucky crept out of his room and hurried to her room, where Becca was standing in the doorway, looking exhausted.

“What’s wrong Becca?” Bucky asked, and his fourteen-year-old sister looked at him with relief in her eyes.

Another nightmare, damn.

“Nothing,” Becca said quietly as to not wake the rest of the house, “I just… You’re here.”

She had that nightmare again, double damn.

Bucky didn’t get a lick of sleep on the night of D— of Frostbite’s arrest.

Becca, however, had the horrid experience of waking up suddenly to an empty house as some strangers from CPS tried to make arrangements for her and Bucky.

Bucky still regrets that he had been pulled away, distracted by his pain. That he wasn’t there when she needed him.

Some nights, a variation of that morning would come back to haunt her, that she was twelve again and all alone in the world.

It was a miracle that the foster family they wound up in decided to take two children in instead of one.

It didn’t take Bucky long to get acquainted with some of the horror stories he heard of.

That foster families were full of overpacked houses, mean foster parents, quacks prescribing toxic drugs to make a child docile, and kids going missing, or living in boxes.

It was one reason Bucky got up so early, if Becca had a nightmare he could help her, and she didn’t have to deal with the other adults.

“Come, I’ll make us pancakes,” Bucky urged, “Pancakes make everything better.”

She crept back into her room to get dressed and Bucky made his way to the kitchen where he began to mix pancake batter and preheat the pans.

By the time Becca had joined him, he had already fried up two eggs (one for him, one for Becca, she needed the protein) and the first batch of pancakes was already in the frying pan.

She took her seat at the countertop as Bucky passed her a plate with jam and syrup, and she grinned softly before she dug in.

Once the horror of the dream faded away, and the calories of the food gave her energy, she’d get back to bossing him around.

They ate in silence, Bucky would worry about getting her ready for school in an hour. Her school bus would pick Becca up at six-thirty, and his ride to school would arrive shortly after.

“Bucky, are you still going to practice this morning?”

“Yeah, after dishes.”

“I’ll do the dishes, you go warm-up, I’ll listen in if you don’t mind,” Becca said, and she stuck her tongue out at him before she took another bite of her pancake. Her eyes were sharp and impish and Bucky felt relief that her terror from her nightmare was gone.

“You just want to complain about how bad my f-chord is,” Bucky teased

“Well that problem will be solved when you’re practicing?” Becca lifted her dimpled chin and glared challengingly at her brother.

Both siblings wound up doing the breakfast dishes together, to get it done faster, and they crept to the back yard, to a spot farthest away from the master bedroom as possible, Bucky grabbing his guitar on their way out, and began tuning it.

Bucky deliberately made a lousy-sounding F-chord while looking Becca in the eye while he did it.

Becca rolled her eyes, gently shoved her brother on the shoulder, and Bucky went back to playing, singing softly as he played.

Of course, these early morning practice sessions were more for Bucky practicing fingering and tempo.

Later, he’d get to practice at a normal volume before school started, or during practice with Clint and Nat.

This was why he liked getting up this early.

It gave him a chance to practice his guitar, to play away from his pain and cares. He picked up the guitar class freshman year on a whim. During his second class, the school’s music teacher Mr. Quill told Bucky he had a natural gift. So Bucky kept up the practice, his fingers now strong and his callus hard and protective.

It wasn’t a superpower, but he felt so much better after he lost himself in the music. It was one of the reasons why he, Nat, and Clint started the band in the first place.

It gave him a place to write songs, casting out his pain, not getting rid of it, but throwing it out so it could be bearable. The pain will return, but the regular practices helped keep him sane these past two years.

For now, it was just nice to pretend life was normal, and little did Bucky care that across town in a different neighborhood, another kid was waking up.

Bucky tried not to think about that kid.

***

The first-class Bucky got at Sky High was Chemistry, and boy did Bucky hate that class.

It wasn’t because of the source material, Bucky’s natural talent with mathematics made calculating formulas a breeze, and he enjoyed the cool experiments.

But when it came to the teacher…

Bucky sank into his seat in the middle of the classroom, where he could avoid the boisterous kids in the back, but not close enough to make frequent eye contact with his teacher and pulled out his notes.

Looks like today they were going to go over the structure of the atom and its history.

Bucky already did the prelab work, so he turned to the page in his notebook and pulled out his worksheet, and waited for the bell to ring.

His teacher was already at his desk, appearing like an apparition in the front of the classroom. The teacher’s tiny beady eyes behind large glasses reflected the overhead fluorescent light that appeared to stare right into Bucky’s core.

Bucky gritted his teeth and was suddenly really glad he asked his manager to check his homework after closing last night, having decent grades in this class was the best way to fly under Mr. Zola’s radar.

One minute before class started, and a freshman slid into the seat next to Bucky, and like Bucky, he already had his homework out.

Bucky felt a slight bolt of recognition. It was the kid with the falcon familiar he bumped into on the first day of school.

The kid who was friends with the Commander and Lady Atalanta’s kid.

His stomach sank, but he shook his head to clear his thoughts. It wasn’t the bird kid’s fault he was friends with that kid.

The bell rang and the class began.

Bucky kept his eyes to the front of the classroom. Behind him, he could still hear Rumlow’s friends laughing and one bragging about how he lost his virginity that weekend.

Bucky rolled his eyes. He had some serious doubts the events described occurred because he served Rollins’ family pizza on Friday night when Rollin’s mom told him he wasn’t going to his grandma’s house this weekend because he was grounded for not doing his homework.

Mr. Zola suddenly stood up and a hush suddenly descended upon the classroom.

“Good Morning, students,” Mr. Zola said in an oily voice. “If you would please pass your pre-lab work to the front of the classroom I would be happy to begin today’s discussion on the history of atoms. This week we will go into the atomic structure and what that will mean for chemical properties for the rest of the course.”

The PowerPoint flashed onto the projector and Bucky tried to take notes about the Greek philosopher Democritus of Abdera who logically deduced about atoms but had his studies get ignored for centuries, thanks to the unfortunate popularity of his contemporary, Aristotle.

Bucky could relate to Democritus, there were bullies at school who kept repeating phrases about the inherent superiority of certain superhero families when Bucky could name a few scandals that proved they were full of bullshit.

Mr. Zola spent most of the lecture at the front of the class, and Bucky kept his attention on him, only sparing a few occasional glances at the bird kid.

Bird kid just resolutely kept taking notes alongside Bucky.

Bucky heard what he assumed was quacking noises behind him, and pursed his lips. Oh to be a teacher’s favorite, quack like a duck, step in line, and get an “A” with no effort.

He kept track of all the notes he could take about atomic structure and the properties of each component.

To help him keep track of what part was which, Bucky noticed his lab partner made a few small sketches to go along with the bullet points he was making, but before Bucky could sketch along, Mr. Zola started patrolling the classroom. Bucky resigned himself to making those sketches later when he was studying the material for tests or homework.

Mr. Zola had a reputation of confiscating anything if he thought it was copied from someone else, as he did for Bucky’s first set of notes on the first day of class when Bucky inadvertently copied the first PowerPoint word for word.

Sometimes Bucky still had nightmares about the humiliation he felt, and the last thing he wanted was for Mr. Zola to spread the word that Bucky was a serial cheater.

Again.

He worked hard and got better at his works cited page at the end of each piece of work he did to break that reputation and he, strongly, didn’t want Mr. Zola to spread the word among the faculty.

It was also why Bucky was forced to retake this class.

Also, Bucky didn’t want Vice-Principal Pierce to lecture him about cheating and scholastic integrity, the vice-principal did not like to be contradicted and Bucky was not about to give the man an excuse to put him in detention.

Once a Supervillain’s child, always a supervillain Bucky supposed.

After the lecture, it was time for the lab work, where the lab partners were assigned an atom, and they were supposed to use pony beads and wires to recreate the atoms by the end of class.

Red beads for protons, grey beads for neutrons, and yellow beads for electrons.

Bucky was fortunate to be assigned Carbon with the Bird kid because the kid seemed determined to do a good job just like Bucky.

Bucky quickly pulled out his textbook and opened it to the periodic table to locate Carbon.

Okay, Carbon’s Periodic Number is six, which means he only needs six red beads, and six yellow beads… and how many grey ones?

“I’ll grab the wire, and you grab the beads and we’ll begin making the model,” the bird kid began, writing “Sam Wilson” at the top of their worksheet, and then he looked at Bucky questioning glance, his pencil hovering over the section of the worksheet that asked for their names.

“James Barnes,” Bucky said in a quiet tone and got to his feet to gather the supplies.

“Thanks, man,” Sam said, and he walked to the other side of the classroom where kids were measuring and cutting out wire for their atom models.

Bucky approached the tubs of beads, easily getting the correct number of red beads and yellow beads, and then his hand hovered over the tub of grey beads, pausing to remember how many neutrons he would need…

“Is there a problem Mr. Barnes?” Bucky heard from behind him, and Bucky felt a shiver at the proximity of the voice.

“No, Mr. Zola,” Bucky said quickly, grabbing a small handful, if he was wrong he could go back for more or fewer beads and rush back to his seat.

“Excellent” Sam observed, and the two began to put the beads together with the neutrons and protons in the center, and the electrons separated into two orbits, Held aloft by two thin wire rings.

They worked together to match the diagrams in the textbooks.

Bucky forgot to count the neutrons. But that was fine, the book said that atoms vary with the number of neutrons.

They made a really good team, Sam and Bucky. Sam did his half of the work, and let Bucky answer some of the questions, and both were able to correct mistakes before the other made them, and if there was an issue, Sam wasn’t offended if Bucky had to make a suggestion. Bucky almost forgot for a moment that Sam was friends with ...that kid.

And they finished before class ended with a perfect Carbon atom.

Or so Bucky thought.

“What is your element?” Mr. Zola asked as they brought the model to the front desk to turn it in and get credit so they could leave.

“Carbon, sir,” Sam said proudly, and Bucky was content to let Sam do the talking.

Sam had Superhero status, and Mr. Zola liked that more than Bucky’s sidekick status.

“So how many electrons does Carbon have?”

“Six, two in the core orbit and four in the outer orbit,” Sam said.

“Very good, and Protons?”

“Six again.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Carbon has covalent bonds, which means it shares electrons and it has a balance between its protons and electrons where they match to make those bonds happen.”

Mr. Zolda nodded and then paused. “So why does it have seven neutrons when Carbon’s atomic weight is twelve?”

“Because it’s an isotope?” Sam said hesitantly, and internally Bucky winced. It was a correct answer technically the books did say that carbon had three isotopes, carbon 13 being one of them, but Mr. Zola loved docking kids on technicalities.

Fuck.

“Yes, that is true, but Mr. Barnes should have known that Carbon’s most stable isotope is carbon 12, which means that you have one extra grey bead,” Mr. Zola began, a smug grin slowly bloomed on his face. “As this is not your mistake Mr. Wilson, I will give you full points, but give Mr. Barnes partial credit for his mistake, perhaps he’ll learn to be more careful in the future.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zola,” Bucky interrupted Sam, before the freshman could protest, sensing the trap the new kid was about to run into, and thankfully the bell rang.

Bucky dashed to his seat to grab his stuff, and watched as the Teacher frowned and said “Class dismissed.”

“Come on,” Bucky said, quickly guiding Sam out of the classroom before he could protest about the unfairness of Bucky’s grade.

“What the hell, dude?” Sam protested.

“Language,” Bucky warned before Zola could say or do anything, then he glanced back at the classroom, Zola was occupied with Brock’s groupies as they tried to hand in their hydrogen atom. Three Protons and they still got an “A” for effort.

Superheroes got all the perks, as it was the sidekick’s job to keep mistakes from happening.

“Listen, word of advice, Mr. Zola is not a teacher to be trifled with. If he decides you’re trouble, you are branded like that for the rest of the year, and he has connections with the vice-principal, it is not a fight you can win.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest but stopped, clearly thinking things through, and quietly he cursed under his breath. “Maybe it’s a good thing Steve isn’t here, he would spend all year in detention, the kid hates bullies.”

“And don’t bother complaining to the principal, Mr. Zola has tenure,” Bucky warned, but he missed the mutinous gleam in Sam’s eyes.

***

After Chemistry, Bucky had Super and Sidekick Ethics, which was a class that Bucky had been required to take thanks to his supervillain family background.

It was taught by the Guidance Counselor, Mr. Rasputin himself. He seemed to prefer having his students be engaged in all his lectures like it was a giant discussion.

But unlike Mr. Zola, Mr. Rasputin kept insisting that Bucky didn’t need to make his father’s mistakes.

Mr. Rasputin kept acting like he actually cared about Bucky, which Bucky didn’t buy for a minute.

It wasn’t something Bucky wanted to be constantly reminded of, but he was relieved that his teacher at least didn’t have it out for him.

***

The second to the last morning class Bucky had was also a class Bucky enjoyed with one exception.

That Kid was also in attendance at Dr. Erskine’s Sports Medicine for Superheros and Sidekicks.

Commander America and Lady Atalanta’s son sat in the same row of desks as Bucky did, having been one of the first students to take his seat.

Bucky pulled his eyes away from the kid and made his way to his assigned seat--better to ignore him with--keeping his eyes firmly on his notes and homework. He had to ignore that kid, while the other kid kept sneaking glances at him.

Heh, he had probably been asked to watch Bucky by his parents.

All the better to keep Bucky in line.

Bucky tried studiously to ignore the kid as other students filed in and took their seats.

Dr. Erskine was one of Bucky’s favorite teachers, from Bucky’s first day of his second semester of Freshman Year when Bucky took Introduction to Biology, Dr. Erskine treated Bucky like he was a normal student and not a supervillain risk in the making.

Bucky found it refreshing and made sure to sign up for ALL of Erskine’s classes.

It seemed Dr. Erskine’s equal treatment of all his students extended to Superhero children as well as Sidekick. He didn’t treat St--That kid any differently than Bucky, but instead of complaining about any lack of special treatment, the kid also seemed to enjoy the not-so-special treatment.

Odd. Rumlow’s Superhero Troop loved absorbing all the extra attention.

Bucky saw some movement in the side of his eye and he glanced at the kid, and the blond kid glanced at him, and Bucky raised an eyebrow in challenge.

The other kid blushed and looked back at his notes, and then flipped a page for a fresh page.

Bucky blinked when he saw what looked like a heart in the margin of the page, and Bucky looked away, giving the kid some privacy.

Bucky had no idea who would that kid deem good enough to start crushing on, but the idea of something so… normal, was making it harder for Bucky to dislike the kid.

The bell rang, and Dr. Erskine stood up and the class began to quiet down in eager attention.

“Last week we went over the basic definitions of human bones and bone structure,” Dr. Erskine said with a calming and patient voice, “as well as what ligaments and tendons are, today we’re going to start looking at how those fit together for the human foot. Today I will assign a project due next Friday where you will label all the bones in the human foot and highlight common injury locations. Then when we are done with that we will then move onto common and uncommon injuries formed in the human foot.”

Bucky began taking notes as Dr. Erskine pulled up a PowerPoint, showing an overview of bones in the foot as well as how unique the human foot was in the animal kingdom.

The human foot was proof that evolution wasn’t perfect and instead had survived with old previous designs, as human feet were prone to injury from overuse or even from a force at an odd angle.

“That being said, I would like to bring to the class’s attention what that says about humans in general. We may have fragile forms, and we are prone to injury, but it says more about us that we can ban together, adapt, and accomplish so much not because we are perfect, but because our imperfections teach us the value of other things.” And the slide show ended with two people, an athlete having their injured ankle wrapped by a teammate, “Like compassion, and empathy.”

The class was silent, and Bucky laughed a little inside, so many teachers, especially those focused on teaching superheroes only, sometimes got caught up in how perfect Supers were, and how elite they were compared to the average civilian population as if they were nothing more than little lambs to be protected from the slaughter.

Bucky appreciated how Dr. Erskine wanted to ground his students in reality.

“Now, we have a project, and I would like to assign you guys some partners, so we’ll start with putting your names on slips of paper, and we’ll draw them out of a hat. You’ll discuss and make a miniature presentation on a common injury, ways they occur, and common treatment and prevention, they will be three to five minutes long, and we will present next Friday during class time.” Dr. Erskine pulled out a hat and passed it around, with the names being written down, and quickly passed forward.

“Alright, for plantar fasciitis, James Barnes, you’ll be paired with…” Dr. Erskine pulled out a second slip “Mr. Steve Rogers… For Bone Spurs, we have Mr. Cameron Kline with…”

But Bucky spent the class frozen in his seat, and the Rogers kid had turned, if possible, a darker shade of red.

Bucky didn’t blame him; if he were in that kid’s shoes, he’d probably wait until the end of class, and ask the teacher to reassign him to someone… less controversial to work with.

***

By the time Lunch rolled around, Bucky was thankful Natasha and Clint had already found them a table.

He was tired, and his math class passed by in an easy to solve blur, and future Bucky would later curse present Bucky for blanking on taking notes on the quadratic equation.

But that didn’t matter to Bucky right now.

He had more important stuff to deal with.

“...And if it’s not bad enough, now I have to work on a project with the kid. He’s probably going to spend the whole time trying to determine what nefarious plans I must have while I wind up doing all the work…” Bucky grumbled into his bread heel sandwich (Becca got two normal slices when Bucky made their lunches that morning).

“Look, Bucky, we know that you two have a semi-history together,” Natasha began slowly, her bright red nails flashing as she tapped her forefinger on the table to emphasize her point.

“But you’ve been talking about the kid a lot, and I gotta tell you, I don’t think this kid is a Brock 2.0,” Clint added, chewing on his leftover pizza.

“You don’t know the kid, he keeps watching me, he’s probably doing that to please his parents.”

“I’m just saying I think you need to either let this go or talk to him.” The deadly-looking redhead continued.

“Yeah,” Clint added, nodding. Clint gestured with his slice of cold pizza halfway to his mouth, his cheek bulging with food. “You’ve been talking about the new kid for, what a week now?”

“Two,” The redhead insisted, “three if you count today.”

“I haven’t been that bad,” Bucky protested, and for a moment, Bucky could remember being pressed against the wall by a more powerful adult, feeling helpless as his life crumbled apart again. “Besides, you don’t know him, or his parents.”

“You say that like Clint’s anything like Barney, or if you’re anything like your d—”

“I’m nothing like that man, Nat!” Bucky snapped, and Bucky quivered inside with the pure fury that she brought him into the argument.

Bucky knew she should know better than to bring his father into this.

“So why aren’t you giving Steve the benefit of the doubt?” Clint asked, swallowing and taking another bite, giving Bucky a raised eyebrow. “I’ve heard nothing bad about him outside of your tragic mutual backstory. One of my guys in the gym says he’s alright, stubborn, and has no sense of self-preservation, but alright.”

Bucky hated it when Clint was the voice of reason.

“Look, just give the kid a chance while you’re working on the project, you don’t have to take the kid home or anything,” Natasha and she looked at something over Bucky’s shoulder. “Perfect timing, why don’t you start talking to the kid now?”

Bucky blinked, and turned around, and staring right at him less than a few feet behind him, was Steve Rogers.

“Uh…” Steve began awkwardly and Bucky began regretting knowing anything about superheroes and supervillains.

And they probably would have been stuck in the awkward standstill if fate hadn’t decided to jump in like Nat’s cat Liho in a pile of catnip toys.

Lot’s of carnage and an utter mess that needed to be cleaned up for days.

“Hey, back off!” a kid, Cameron Klien from Erskine’s Sports Medicine class, shouted. By accident he bumped into Steve, causing Bucky to leap to his feet and catch the kid before he fell to the floor.

“I just wanted more of your gummy bears,” Brock Rumlow said with a smug look, a small snack bag full of the little candies was swinging in his hand, “not that you need anymore.”

Bucky glanced at the skinny kid in confusion, but while Cameron didn’t look gummy bear-shaped, he for a moment flushed, his powers activating, making the kid look almost transparent and kinda gooey looking.

“Give those back, Brock!” Steve demanded, regaining his balance and Bucky could swear the kid shifted into a battle stance.

No... That idiot.

Brock shifted, mirroring Steve’s stance before Bucky noticed a small quirk of his eyebrows, and before Bucky looked in the direction behind Steve, the older dark-haired boy taunted.

“Well, why don’t you make me, or are you some sort of pathetic sidekick?”

And to punctuate that last jab, Rumlow lobbed a handful of gummy bears into Steve Roger’s face.

Years from now, Bucky would have a better idea why he quickly wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist as the smaller boy lunged for Rumlow.

Years from now Bucky would attribute it to his instincts and his finely honed skill of sensing a trap.

Rumlow’s friends began to shout and jeer, and distantly Bucky could hear what sounded like Steve’s friends shouting something, probably not encouragement since Bucky was sure he heard “Brock’s not worth it!”

Steve wriggled in Bucky’s arm as Bucky tried to pull him away from Rumlow, his arms fruitlessly waving around, and Bucky had to hold down a grunt of pain as Steve kicked him in the shin, causing Bucky to wince, but he held on.

“Oh sure, I take it you don’t wanna join daddy in prison, Barnes?” Bucky heard Brock taunt, and Bucky quivered but held firm.

Bringing up his father was something Brock kept doing when he figured out who Bucky Barnes was. The Rumlows weren’t involved with the Frostbite investigation, but they knew all about Bucky’s connection to the now-imprisoned Frostbite.

The last thing Bucky wanted was for Steve to continue his parents’ work and leave Becca all alone in the world.

As Bucky tried to keep Steve from mauling his left ankle, he felt a few gummy bears pelt him, and when one hit him right by his right eye, he flinched, allowing Steve to wiggle out of his grip.

Steve whirled around, and Bucky was sure he was about to get punched when something made Steve stop in his tracks.

“Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers, what are you two doing?” An oily voice slithered into the conversation like some sort of cold reptilian creature, causing Bucky’s world to freeze.

“Just, just roughhousing, Mr. Zola,” Bucky began, the bile in his stomach churned, causing his stomach to clench.

“Roughhousing? Are you sure? Because I don’t think I need to remind you that it looked like a fight, but it couldn’t because that would be a violation of the second rule of this fine school.”

“Yeah, yeah, we were roughhousing,” Steve began, nodding so quickly, and he shot Bucky a playful grin.

How the hell did the child of such paragon heroes get so good at lying like that?

“Well, unfortunately, ‘roughhousing’ is against school rules, as the school cafeteria is not such a place for you two to hone your sparring and grappling skills, save that for gym class,” Zola began, and Bucky felt a little twinge of hope.

Maybe he wasn’t going to get kicked out of his court-ordered attendance at this school.

“As a consequence of your behavior, I must punish you with lunch detention, effective immediately. Come with me and I shall escort you myself.”

Bucky’s ears suddenly roared with all of his feelings, relief at not getting kicked out because of some stupid kid, rage at getting punished because of some other stupid kid, anger at himself for stepping in and not minding his damn business.

Bucky felt a chill crawl down his left arm, and he looked down to see small bits of frost begin to form on his fingertips, and instantly started to take deep breaths.

He had to calm down, if Zola saw Bucky had activated his ice powers, Zola might skip detention and send Bucky straight to the vice principal’s office, where Pierce would talk to him about how he’d have to change his behavior or warn Bucky not to blow his last chance at having a future outside of prison like his father.

Bucky focused on Becca, remembering how pale she was when she woke up from her nightmare this morning.

On Clint and Natasha, as well Sam and some other kids, who were currently protesting to deaf ears on Bucky’s and Steve’s behalf.

Bucky shut his eyes, refusing to even acknowledge Rumlow who was probably grinning at getting away because he knew Mr. Zola liked him.

Bucky had to focus on the future, of getting out of this school, and after graduation, he’d be able to support Becca as she went to school, he’d probably go to work in the civilian sector, show the world that he wasn’t a villain like Frostbite, probably joining the guys at work full time.

His manager would be pleased to have him.

Bucky felt a nudge and opened his eyes, his left hand felt warm again.

“I have made up my mind, and I will be hearing no more of this. Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, with me please.”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Bucky told Nat and Clint quietly, and he could see the tired resignation in their eyes, Natasha always complained that Bucky gave up too easily, but Bucky was just so tired.

Behind him, he could hear Lady Atalanta and Commander America’s kid sulking and grumbling under his breath, but Bucky couldn't hear what Steve was saying.

Probably something like “Daddy’s going to hear about this”.

Typical.

They followed Mr. Zola down the hall, and by the time they reached the detention hall on the other side of the school, Bucky realized he forgot his lunch at the table with Clint and Nat.

His stomach rumbled and Mr.Zola looked at him with a severe expression, like he was trying to discern if a grumbling stomach was grounds for taking a student to the Vice Principal’s office or not.

Bucky gritted his teeth and looked away, daring to not give Mr. Zola a reason to decide that hunger was offensive or not.

“Here we are, as you are the first students to get detention this year” Mr. Zola began, but Bucky had trouble believing that they were the first kids in this school to misbehave. “I will ask you to wait here while I get a teacher to supervise you during the rest of your detention, and I want you to…”

“No need Arnim, I’m already here,” Bucky heard from behind him, and instead of relief at whatever horror he was sure Mr. Zola had in store for him, it was replaced with shame.

He liked Dr. Erskine, and now he was going to lose respect from one of his favorite teachers for something that wasn’t even his fault.

Now to come was the quiet disappointment, Dr. Erskine was very likely going to decide that Bucky was a bad student, and no longer worth his time.

Gone were the good grades, hell Bucky probably wouldn’t be allowed to graduate and would probably be forced to drop out...

Bucky would be lucky if he spent the rest of his life flipping burgers. He couldn’t support himself and Becca like that.

A judge sure as hell wouldn’t let a high school dropout take custody of his little sister when they were forced to be separated when Bucky ages out of the system.

And it was. All. That. Family’s. Fault.

Bucky shut his eyes and ducked his head in shame, he refused to cry, not in front of that kid, and not in front of his teachers.

Mr. Zola would see it as a disappointing weakness.

Dr. Erskine would probably find it to be fake tears to get out of trouble like some sort of spoiled toddler.

“Where is Fenoff? Isn’t today his turn to monitor detention?” Mr. Zola asked in surprise.

“Dr. Fenoff had a sudden migraine and had to go home to recover, so I volunteered to take over his detention duty,” Dr. Erskine said calmly, and Bucky looked up at his teacher, but instead of disappointment and pity, he saw Dr. Erskine looked at him with mild surprise. “I’ll take it from here Arnim, I’m sure you need to get back to Lunch duty.”

Bucky saw Mr. Zola’s eyes sharpened a little before he gave Dr. Erskine a sharp nod.

“Make sure that these two understand that this school will not tolerate any inappropriate rough play, Abraham.”

Then Mr. Zola left, and to Bucky’s surprise, with little argument.

“Alright gentlemen, inside, and I’d like to hear your side of the story so we can get to the bottom of this,” Dr. Erskine said, unlocking the door to the detention room and ushering both boys in.

Bucky chose the seat furthest away from the teacher’s desk (and consequently where that super kid was sitting) in the faint hopes that if his teacher forgot he was there, he’d still serve his detention and maybe his teacher would forget that Bucky was ever in detention and thus it wouldn’t ruin his chances for good grades and his future could still be secure.

“Mr. Barnes, I can’t hear your side of the story if you’re sitting over there, please come sit over here,” Dr. Erskine called as Bucky approached the back corner, and Bucky turned back to see Steve looking back at him.

The other kid looked a little hurt, but that might have been Bucky’s imagination.

Shame churned along with Bucky’s anxiety and knowing there was no way out of this but to face this head-on and pray his teacher takes mercy on him.

“Alright, well we had Mr. Zola’s side of the story, now I’d like to hear your side of the story.” Dr. Erskine said, and then gestured toward Steve, “for example, Mr. Zola has yet to explain where that gummy bear in your hair came from Mr. Rogers.”

Bucky turned to look at Steve and saw to his surprise as Steve reached up and pulled the incriminating gummy bear out of his bangs.

“It’s nothing,” Steve grumbled, and Bucky could see Steve was saying that through gritted teeth.

“It’s because his buddy Rumlow had them.”

“Brock Rumlow is not my friend, our dads just work together, Brock’s an asshole!” Steve snapped.

Bucky was surprised that Steve would call a fellow superhero “an asshole”, normally that’s saved for kids of supervillains. “I thought you Superhero types like to stick together? Keep the Supervillains contained and all that.”

“What the fuck is that’s supposed to mean!” Steve exclaimed.

“Mr. Rogers, while you’re at school I’d like to ask you to refrain from using that language as school is where you’re supposed to learn professional behavior, but please explain to me why you felt Mr. Rumlow deserved such a colorful moniker?” Dr. Erskine asked. “And Mr. Barnes, why do you feel the need to call Steven a ‘superhero’ and then talk about how supervillains need to be contained as if neither groups have the choice to do good or evil on their own?”

Steve took a deep breath, “Well I was headed to James’ table to talk about our project? About the common foot injuries and how to treat them, when I heard another kid shout. Brock took Cameron Klien’s gummy bears, and Cameron bumped into me trying to get them back, and I fell, and James caught me before I fell to the floor.”

“That’s very noble of you Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky felt his face flush, why would Dr. Erskine see anything praiseworthy from Bucky’s actions? It was his fault for not minding his own business and getting caught up in this mess.

Encouraged Steve kept talking. “I mean I knew Brock took Cameron’s candy without permission because Cameron was asking for them back. So I told him to give them back, and Brock called me a pathetic sidekick and threw some at my face.”

“And so why is it that I’m having this conversation with you and Mr. Barnes and not you and Mr. Rumlow?” Dr. Erskine asked.

“Because I didn’t want it to come to blows, and Steve looked furious, and I didn’t want him to get into trouble. So I tried to stop him, and I got a gummy bear in my eye for my efforts,” Bucky snapped looking at Steve.

“Did Mr. Rogers... throw this gummy bear at you, James?”

“No, that was Rumlow, but Mr. Zola didn’t do anything about it, because that’s when Mr. Zola showed up, and we got detention,” Bucky continued.

Dr. Erskine was quiet for a long moment, his face pondering, and then at last he spoke.

“What I am hearing worries me a lot, and I am proud of you boys, especially you James, for attempting to keep the situation from escalating. I shall have a conversation with Mr. Rumlow and his parents about this. But I’m afraid that you two didn’t handle this situation correctly, as I feel you should have had a teacher deal with Mr. Rumlow directly.”

“As such, as I feel this is an unusual situation, I won’t ask you to do the usual detention punishments, instead I ask you to interview each other, and write me a three hundred word essay about the other to turn in with your project. I want you to write about what you can learn from each other. I have a list of questions here that you can get started with,” Dr. Erskine said as he opened up a laptop on the computer desk and began to click around until the printer whirled to life and printed out a sheet of paper.

Bucky’s heart began to slow a little, it sounded almost like this teacher wasn’t going to hold today against him.

“You may get started—”

Just then the detention door flew open and a second adult entered the room.

This one, wore a band t-shirt, a business jacket, and a pair of jeans, a clean-shaven man with messy brown hair and sunglasses in one hand, and a briefcase in the other.

“Did you get mistaken for a student again Mr. Stark?” Dr. Erskine asked with a slightly tired, but not unkind tone.

“It was just a little physics demonstration, and I even got the parents to sign permission slips before I launched that rocket!” Mr. Stark protested, but he then proceeded to take a seat next to Bucky, with his briefcase on the desk. “ And it missed the principal’s car! So it’s not like anything got damaged, again.”

“So you got detention instead of a reprimand?” Dr. Erskine asked. “In that case, start grading your papers, or write a 300-word essay on how to think through class demonstrations for the pursuit of teaching without having to endanger other people’s property.”

“Fine,” the other teacher said, and opened up the briefcase to pull out worksheets and a red and gold fountain pen.

Meanwhile, Bucky and Steve glanced at each other from their seats in bewilderment.

“What kind of place gives teachers detention?” Steve whispered, glancing behind Bucky to get a better look at the teacher.

“Oh, I should probably introduce myself,” Mr. Stark said, glancing at Steve, then at Bucky. “Name’s Tony Stark, Philanthropist, physics teacher, Science Olympics coach, and according to my daughter Morgan, the best dad in the world.”

“Unless you are interviewing each other for your essays, I still need a collective 900 words by Friday, gentlemen,” Erskine reminded them gently, so Bucky got up to pull out the printed interview sheet and brought it over to Steve.

He might as well get this essay out of the way before it distracted him from his normal homework or his shift.

He glanced down at the printout.

It looked like a generic prewritten list with a header reading “Team Building Ice Breakers”.

And he had to write an essay using these questions.

He glanced at Steve, who looked up at him with the same inquisitive expression. The kid seemed to fidget as if he was uncertain about something.

Bucky sighed and glanced at the physics teacher who was already going over the other sheets of paper with the red fountain pen, and Dr. Erskine was also looking over papers.

“Okay, so question one,” Steve began glancing at the sheet of paper on Bucky’s desk. “What is your favorite movie?”

“Spiderman Into the Spiderverse,” Bucky mumbled embarrassedly, it was the last movie he saw in theaters on a day off, his foster parents were busy, he wanted to treat Becca for Christmas.

“Really?” Steve asked. “Me too, I saw that movie in theaters twice!”

Bucky twitched.

He had to recycle five hundred cans just to afford two tickets.

“That must have been nice,” He tried to say naturally.

“Yeah, I had to do a lot of chores before I could get tickets both times.”

“I had to recycle cans,” Bucky admitted.

“Wow, that’s so responsible of you.”

Well, that was one way to say poor as shit, Bucky supposed.

Then Bucky noticed the kid was writing “ Bucky is a responsible guy who recycles cans, thus reducing waste and saving the planet, to go see movies, which I think is pretty cool.”

Bucky felt his face heat up. But he couldn’t find it in himself to correct Steve from his assumption that saving the earth was the reason Bucky was too poor to go to the movie theaters.

And then Bucky glanced down at his sheet of paper, and a blank page sat there, reminding him of what little progress he has made.

Then Bucky remembered his teachers preferring to have an introduction paragraph and a thesis statement, and realized there was a way he could pad the word count without having his stomach churn so hard.

Bucky picked up his pencil, and the words didn’t appear.

Come on brain, just put down that Steve is a kid who does chores to go watch movies.

Steve was already writing down an essay about how cool Bucky was.

“So what was your favorite part of the movie?” Steve asked, “I think mine was when Miles was standing up to King Pin at the end while he was trying to help the other Spidermans go home.”

So it seemed like picking fights with bigger and more powerful people wasn’t just a one-time thing.

Bucky’s notepad remained blank.

“Uh, I think I like the part where Miles managed to figure out his powers and do that cool jump out the window, that scene looked amazing.”

“That was amazing,” Steve agreed, his eyes brightening with interest, “With the colors and the way the buildings rose making Miles look like flying before he used his powers to swing away, that is an excellent choice!”

Now Bucky could imagine Steve’s essay doing nothing but singing Bucky’s praises like some kind of love letter to him.

As Bucky glanced at the bright blue eyes, with a sickeningly familiar shame, and long blond lashes reminding Bucky of that one night. His stomach began to hurt and his heart sank at the stark reminder that this kid came from the world that destroyed his life.

And why they could never be friends.

Hurt lanced through his chest, and his eyes burned a little at the thought.

“So,” Bucky began, and inwardly he floundered, what the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t well say ‘hey, so Erskine assigned us on the same project, should we ignore the fact that my father is in prison because your parents arrested him?’

Yeah, the more he thought about it, the more screwed up the situation was.

Then Bucky, desperate to change the subject, looked at the list, and he found the perfect question he could ask Steve.

After all, people in Steve’s world love talking about their powers, it was all superheroes would talk to him about.

Other than that he needed to be a morally upstanding citizen if he wanted to live a just life and not one in prison.

At least according to the Vice Principal.

“So, what’re your powers?” Bucky asked. This had to give Bucky enough material to finish his essay without any more awkward questions.

Steve froze, and the bright light in those eyes faded.

“Oh, I-I’m a late bloomer.”

Meaning that Steve didn’t have any powers.

But how was that possible? His parents were Lady Atalanta, the strongest hero in the League, and Commander America, the most cunning tactical mind in the past forty years.

As Steve’s face continued to shut down, the pain gave way to guilt, because Bucky put that there.

Shit, which means that Bucky was being a jackass and justifying everything Steve's parents must have told him about Bucky. Bucky was undoing all the chances Steve was trying to give him by trying to talk to him.

But why would Steve try to give Bucky a chance if he knows that Bucky is Frostbite’s son, the son that shares his powers?

Then a thought occurred to him.

If D--Frostbite kept his secret life of villainy away from his children, could it be that Steve had no idea that his parents were the heroes who arrested the Supervillain Frostbite, and thus could it be possible that Steve had no idea who Bucky was?

Only one way to find out.

“Huh, so you’re a kid that stands up to bullies with nothing to back that up?”

“Yeah, and what of it?” Steve asked, his voice sounding offended, and Bucky could hear the teachers’ pens stop.

Shit shit shit shit…

“That’s,” Bucky floundered, trying to project calm admiration, “really brave.”

Brave, out of all the worlds in the English Language, Bucky had access to pick, and “brave” was the word that tumbled out like a demented hamster.

“Brave?” Steve asked like he never heard someone call him that before.

“Yeah, you stood up for Cameron trying to give him back his gummy bears from Brock Rumlow, and Brock Rumlow is pretty strong, and a lot of teachers like him. Standing up to him when the teachers of this school would be more than happy to send you to detention and not bother finding out why? That’s like, Gryffindor level bravery.”

Suddenly Bucky had wished he had shut up, as the minute he stopped talking and the room was filled with silence.

“Very insightful Mr. Barnes,” Dr. Erskine said with a pensive tone, and whatever Bucky said must have been powerful enough because both teachers glanced at each other with contemplative silence.

Bucky felt his face flush.

“And your powers?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“Cryokinetics, focusing on my left arm…” Bucky began hesitantly, carefully watching Steve’s expression.

All Bucky needed to know this budding friendship was over as if there was recognition and then disgust.

For Steve to realize just what infamous supervillain Bucky was related to and it would all be over.

But there wasn’t any such spark, no shock, no anger, no disgust.

“So you have ice powers and your arm turns into an ice shield or something?” Steve asked instead.

“Something like that, my arm just turns grey and my clothing gets a little frosty but that’s about it.”

“That’s got to be useful on a hot day, just chilling and probably got a ton of cold drinks for your efforts,” Steve observed.

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah I’ve had to use it a few times to cool off.” Then Bucky realized he just told his teachers he uses his powers outside of class.

There was no scolding or lecture about responsibility.

Mr. Stark was just back to grading papers, and Dr. Erskine was making notes but Bucky saw the teacher give them an encouraging nod.

Emboldened, Bucky began to write down in his notebook.

By the time Lunch was over, Bucky was hungry, his essay was half done, and their friends were waiting outside the door, and as Bucky left, Clint passed over Bucky’s sandwich.

“Better eat up before Phillips starts class,” Clint muttered, while Bucky crammed his sandwich into his mouth, and looked up to see a slightly guilty look on Steve’s face.

“You didn’t get to eat your lunch did you?” Steve asked.

“Neither did you,” Bucky pointed out, then seeing Steve wilt a little, sighed and said, “just be better at picking your battles next time please.”

“Hey, do you wanna meet up later to finish our essays, and get started on our project?” Steve asked quickly as the warning bell rang.

“I have work after band practice, but tomorrow night I have off, we can use the library to get started?” Bucky offered, and to his surprise, the other kid perked up.

“Awesome, I’ll meet you there after school?” Steve asked.

“Or you kids could use the physics room, it’ll be open, and I have way better wifi than the library does,” Mr. Stark offered.

“Mr. Stark?” Bucky asked in bewilderment.

“Think of it as a recruitment attempt, you kids are smart, and with the proper science background we could bring the gold to the team.”

“Or they would rather join some other extracurricular activity like the Superpowered Relay Race, and I believe they need to get to class Mr. Stark,” Dr. Erskine said behind Mr. Stark as he locked the detention room behind him and ushered the kids off.

Steve pulled out a slip of paper and passed it to Bucky in a hurried flush, “It’s my number if we wanna meet up later, I… You’re… I’ve got class.”

“I’ll text you,” Bucky promised, “and if not, I’ll meet you at Mr. Stark’s room tomorrow night.”

Nat raised an eyebrow at Bucky when he accepted the slip.

With that, the younger kids ran off while the older kids veered off and hurriedly marched to the locker rooms.

“Well?” Natasha asked before she could cut Bucky off from the locker room, and Bucky wasn’t eager to be held up anymore.

“You and Clint were right.”

“See, now was that so hard?”

***

Unbeknownst to the students, there was a pair of faculty putting some clues together, and they did not like the picture it was painting.

Something had to change and someone had to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In full disclosure, I am an older Millennial who went to High School in the mid-2000s so if I miss something or overlook something please let me know.  
> I really did have a Physics Teacher who got mistaken for a student by the principal and got sent to detention, and he went. This was also the same teacher who got his roof privileges suspended by launching a rocket off the roof as a physics demonstration, only in real life the rocket really did hit the principal's car. He's still working at my old High School XD.  
> I Avoided the chemistry teacher who had a reputation of being a creep to his students, and he was forced to retire during my freshman year of high school.  
> And I really did have a sports med course in high school that had a really cool teacher.


End file.
